


Carver Hawke Prompts

by Bowm8935



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Brother/Sister Relationship, F/M, M/M, Not Incest, The Calling, templar!Carver, warden!Carver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 22,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/Bowm8935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't get many prompts for this loveable bug, so I'm lumping them all in here. Which means it will be multi-relationship, with any of his possible love interests.</p><p>And a few may not be from his POV, just as a word of warning. But he'll be the other main character.</p><p>ALSO some may be NSFW- I will mark any prompt if it falls into that category.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when you thought i was asleep with Champion Hawke and their sleeping sibling (Carver, Bethany, your choice)

Carver was restless. He was tired and exhausted, but for some reason his brain just wouldn’t shut down and allow him to sleep. Maybe it was because he was angry that he was being left behind on the Deep Roads expedition. Maybe it had to do with the worry he felt for those who were going instead. 

Maybe it was a little of both.

He sighed loudly as he flopped over to his side, aggressively rearranging the pillow underneath his head in an attempt to get comfortable. If he didn’t get some rest tonight, he would be grumpy tomorrow and that usually spelled trouble in the form of his elder sister, the sarcastic and perfect Marian Hawke.

Everybody loved her _so_ much. (And yes, so did Carver but if asked he would snort and scowl at the offending person.) 

He missed Bethany. She at least cared about him and what he wanted. All Marian cared about was herself.

The door to their shared room opened, and Carver pulled the blanket up over his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge his elder sibling’s entrance.

“Carver?” His name was whispered as a question as footsteps padded close to the small bed. “Carver? Are you awake?”

He briefly considered answering but decided against it. No, he didn’t want to engage in any banter tonight. The last few times they had spoken had ended up in arguments over the expedition. He had no desire to become more riled up than he already was. So he let out a fake snore, hoping to convince her to let him be.

He scowled when he felt the edge of his bed dip near his chest, hoping she didn’t intend to try to wake him. A hand landed in his hair, and he felt her stroke the top of his head like she used to when he was still a child, whenever he was frightened.

“I know you think I’m doing this because I don’t think you’re capable. Or maybe you think I just want all the glory for myself. I wish… I wish that I could express myself better to you when we talk, but it seems like we only ever fight anymore.” She let out a sigh, the hand continuing to trail along his skin. “The truth is that you’re more than good enough to go. You’re one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen. You survived Ostagar, for Maker’s sake! Do you really think me so blind as to not see how talented you are?”

He was frozen under his blanket, eyes wide in the dark, clinging onto every word she said. She hadn’t been this forthright with him in a long time, and even now it only came when she thought he was sleep. He tried to push the anger he felt rising up at that aside, wanting to hear what she had to say.

“I just _can’t_ let you come, Carv, _I can’t._ It would be the end of me if something happened to you. We already lost papa, and Bethany… I can’t lose you too.” She sniffled, and he realized she was crying. Suddenly the anger dissipated, and the realization of her actions dawned on him.

She didn’t want him to go because, despite all of her bravado and sarcastic jibes, she _cared_ for him.

“I-If something happened down there, if you were lost… I don’t think I’d be able to make it back to the surface. I wish I could make you understand. But I know you hate me for it. And I’ll gladly suffer through you despising me if it means that for even just another minute, you’ll be safe.”

He pulled down the blanket and sat up, staring into her shocked eyes that were spilling tears down her cheeks. “I don’t hate you, sister. I could never hate you. I understand now why you want me to stay. And I will do it, for you.”

She smiled wetly at him, reaching out to pull him into a huge. “Thank you, Carv,” she whispered, squeezing him tightly.

As she walked to her bed, he laid back down, all of his anger gone. Maybe… maybe he needed to reevaluate what he thought of his sister’s motivations after all.


	2. Prompt #2- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m flirting with you” Culver

Cullen rarely went to the bar after work, but it had been one of those days.

Meredith had ridden him hard about the security lapses their building had been suffering, unexplained shortages of power that he couldn’t seem to get to the bottom of. He was trying, Maker _knows_ he was trying, but whoever was behind it was not leaving any clues for him to pick up on. He had even brought in that freelance detective brother of one of his coworkers, who came highly recommended from many of the nobles in town. Despite his rather unorthodox methods of investigation, Hawke had also come up empty-handed; so much for the claim that he solved 100% of cases given to him.

Cullen took the shot of whiskey in front of him, coughing slightly as it singed the sides of his throat. He sat the glass down gently in front of him, pushing it forward and lifting a hand at the bartender. This was out of the norm for him; usually if he drank, it was something like scotch at his apartment, but it was Friday and he was running on a mindset of _fuck everything_ currently.

He shifted slightly to one side as the seat next to him made whining noises, protesting at the man who was settling onto it. “Captain and coke, please,” rumbled a familiar voice, causing his head to swing around to face the man sitting on the chair with a cocky grin on his face. “Knight-Captain,” Carver Hawke said in greeting, tipping his head respectfully. “Didn’t expect to see you at my favorite haunt.”

Cullen smiled weakly, taking his refilled shot glass and downing the drink before shuddering and placing it back on the bar, waving again at the woman behind the counter. “I do not normally partake in this scene,” he acknowledged, glancing around at the dive he was in. He had chosen to head to Lowtown, to The Hanged Man in particular. It wasn’t a popular place with his men and he figured he would be fairly safe here. Of course, there always had to be at least one exception to the rule, and that one was sitting right in front of him. “However, tonight I felt like a little self-medication was needed.”

Carver laughed, a large grin on his face as he regarded Cullen. “Was self-medication all you had in mind?” His tone was fairly bland, but his face had an impish quality about it that threw Cullen off.

“I-I, uh,” he stammered unhelpfully, rubbing the back of his neck firmly. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

The glass of dark liquid that Carver had been drinking from lowered slightly as he regarded Cullen with a look that was equal parts shocked and exasperated. “You don’t understand… alright then. Don’t worry about it.” He sounded amused, and Cullen wasn’t sure if he should be affronted or not by the lack of explanation. He caught the movement of the bartender out of the corner of his eye, and he scooped up his glass once more, shooting back the unpleasant clear drink, wondering why he had chosen it in the first place.

“Slow down, cowboy, or you’ll be unable to walk home,” Carver huffed with raised eyebrows, a smirk crawling over his face. “There’s better reasons to have to stumble home than being drunk, you know.”

Cullen tilted his head slightly, gazing at Carver curiously. “Is there? I’m afraid I don’t know of any other reasons why I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“Oh for- I’m _flirting with you_ , Cullen!” Carver exclaimed, tone full of disbelief. “Can’t believe you can’t see that, I’m hardly subtle.” He leaned forward, placing a hand on Cullen’s thigh. “Come home with me tonight.”

Heat was spreading through his cheeks as the hand remained on his leg, his heart speeding up as he considered what Carver was saying. Carver was looking at him with such intensity, a hungry note in his eyes, and Cullen felt his own body answering the want there. “Yes,” he answered slowly, watching as surprise bloomed on Carver’s face to be quickly chased away by delight. “Yes, I will go home with you.”

They both left money on the bar for their drinks, walking toward the exit together. This was not how he pictured his night turning out, but he certainly couldn’t complain.


	3. Prompt #3- no pairing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5: “You died and left me a bunch of money and a pile of really weird IOU’s?! Why did someone owe you a free body disposal. Why did someone owe you two brides and a goat. Why did someone owe you an island. WHY?”
> 
> This takes place after Hawke is left in the fade

****Carver had to work hard to make sure his hand remained steady as Varric handed him the papers to the mansion, now legally his. Even a few years ago, templars were not allowed to inherit land or titles, but since a new divine had been elected and the Inquisition had reformed Thedas, a lot of old rules were rewritten. This just happened to be one of them.

To be fair, he wasn’t _exactly_ a templar anymore. He had forsaken his vows when the war hit, unwilling to be associated with the rest of the order when they left to slaughter mages on sight. He had instead opted to take any young magelings under his protection, and he had acquired quite the little group of abandoned children in the past few years. This, and this alone, was why he had returned to Kirkwall to accept the mansion and responsibilities of nobility that came with it. It was big enough to house all of them, and came with the money to provide them with the life they all deserved.

He thanked Varric and quickly left the Viscount’s Keep, heavily plodding down the stairs outside to the small group waiting at the bottom for him. Waving a hand, he directed the kids to follow him the short distance to the house, unlocking it and letting them all inside. He was surprised to find Orana still inhabited it, having chosen to wait until the day the Amell-Hawkes of Kirkwall would return. He let her fuss over the children, relieved when she took them upstairs to let them choose their bedrooms. He took the opportunity to wander into the study, knowing that was where his elder sister had kept all records of finances.

He paused in the entryway, allowing himself a brief moment of nostalgia as he remembered when she had brought him in here to speak with him about the dwarven attacks on them, the beginning of a rather enlightening adventure involving their father’s history with the Wardens. It had also been the opportunity to kill Corypheus before his reign of terror fully began, a chance they had utterly cocked up. It was thanks to the Wardens in the first place that he had even woke up.

He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he tried to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. If they had just managed to kill the bastard then, Aurellia wouldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t have felt the need to remain behind in the fade to atone for a mistake that wasn’t hers alone, to trade her life for that of a sodding _Grey Warden_.

He released a heavy breath, relaxing his muscles as he stepped up to the desk in the center of the room. He reached forward to grab the ledger still sitting pristinely in the middle of it, flipping it open to glance through it. A bunch of papers fluttered to the ground, causing him to curse and place the ledger back on the desk perhaps a little harder than necessary. He squatted, gathering up the scattered papers, pausing when one of the notes caught his eye.

“I-O-U for one free body disposal,” he read out loud, brows knitting together and nose wrinkling in confusion. “What in the void?” He sat it on top of the black book, bringing a different note forward to read. “This voucher is good for two brides and a goat, redeemable at any time.” His eyebrows shot up, and he stood up, dropping the rest of the notes on the desk in disgust. “What on Thedas did my sister get up to?” he wondered out loud, staring at the grouping of paper, unsure what to do with them. “Wonder if I can just toss them in the fire?” Shaking his head, he took a step away, intending to go check on the kids, when a solitary white sheet of paper caught his eye. It was under the desk, most likely having fluttered there when the rest fell. Letting out a loud sigh, he reached down to grab it. “What will I find on this sodding thing?” he muttered to himself as he brought it up to his face. “An island!?” exclaimed Carver, shock settling in across his features. “Okay, I don’t even want to know. This shit is bloody weird.” He dropped the note along with the rest, taking a few steps in the direction of the door before pausing.

“Well, maybe I’ll keep that last one. Just in case.”


	4. Prompt #4- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m desperate.” “Well, I’m glad you can admit that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver/Cullen relationship

Carver gazed in awe as he passed through the great stone archway that led into Skyhold. The place was bloody amazing; ramparts connected huge stone towers, ivy trailing majestically down the sides in no discernible pattern but nevertheless beautiful. The courtyard was filled with people running to and fro as they carried out whatever orders had been given to them, only a few bothering to glance at the two men riding slowly into the fray. There was a great sparring ring off to one side where soldiers were busy with their training, a man shouting at them from the sidelines that Carver hadn’t given a thought to in years. His eyes did not linger, however; he was too busy soaking in everything around him.

A tavern off to his right looked inviting as clients bustled in and out of the door, and he made a mental note to indulge himself in a little drinking later. They ducked under another, smaller stone arch that led them down past a grouping of tents with healers bustling them around. As they rode past the tents, Carver noticed a young boy moving carefully in between the injured, the brim of his large hat obscuring his face. The horse he rode on trod past a few merchant stalls, their workers busy peddling their wares to anyone who came near. Soon enough, they were at the stable, and he followed his brother’s lead at dismounting and handing the reigns to the kind-looking man who had been petting and talking in soothing tones to a chestnut mare.

“Thank you,” he made sure to say as he tilted his head in respect to the man, who gave him a small smile and short bow in return before turning to take the horses into the stalls they’d stay in. Carver straightened his Grey Warden tabard as he followed Hawke back up the hill, heading for what appeared to be the main hall of the keep. Again they passed near the sparring ring, Carver diverting his gaze from the currently shirtless ex-templar who had stepped in to challenge one of his recruits, not daring to look lest he find himself staring at something just beyond his reach.

No, he had to focus on the task at hand; his brother had brought him to Skyhold to speak with the Inquisitor and her war council, to help them with the problem of the Wardens. 

He was shown to a room where a tub of water awaited him, and he took his time bathing, letting the warmth seep through his tired muscles. His hair about reached his shoulders now, in desperate need of a trim, but when had he had time to indulge in such a thing? Ever since everything had gone to the Void and he had separated from his group of Wardens- his brainwashed friends- he hadn’t been able to properly take care of himself. One of the first things his brother had commented on was how dirty and ill-kept he was, and just like that, they had fallen back into their old, bickering ways.

He sighed, sinking down deeper into the tub, letting his knees dangle over the edges. He was much too tall for most tubs, and this one seemed as though it may have been sized for elves instead of humans in the first place. Regardless, he was thankful to have the chance to clean up before making a fool of himself in front of the inquisition.

He had no illusions of grandeur; no, he was very well aware of how crude and blunt he was. Being a Warden had done nothing to change that, since they had no one to need to impress. The one thing he had wished it had been able to drive out of him was his tendency to speak before thinking, something that usually brought about an embarrassment as hot as the sun itself.

A knock on the door followed by a lilting voice informed him that he needed to get ready; the war council was convening in roughly half an hour. He reluctantly climbed out of the tub, grabbing the nearby towel and drying off as he stood by the lit fireplace in the room, staring at a picture of a wooden area that had been placed above the mantle. His thoughts drifted briefly back to when he was still a callow youth living in Kirkwall, contemplating joining the Templars to keep his brother safe. He had gone so far as to speak with the Knight-Captain about the possibility, picking up the Chant of Light by his recommendation and starting to memorize bits and pieces. He had planned on joining as soon as the expedition to the Deep Roads was over; having a person on the inside in addition to wealth certainly wouldn’t hurt. All he wanted was for his family to be safe.

Of course it all went to the bloody void. He had to get the blight, giving him a one-way ticket to either death or a life in the Wardens. It was only then, when the prospect of the future he’d been carefully crafting was ripped away from him, that he had realized the feelings he had been harboring for the Knight-Captain. And, in retrospect, if the stuttering and blushing had been anything to go by, it had been mutual.

Alas, life hardly goes the way one plans. All one can do is take a deep breath and move forward, rolling with the punches as they come, adapting as need be.

He finished his outfit by pulling the dirty tabard back over his head, the heraldry of the Wardens standing proud on his chest. It may not have been what he had originally intended for himself, but he was bloody well proud that it was where he ended up. It was the first place he had ever felt at home since Lothering, a place where he was accepted as himself and not constantly compared to his brother.

How he hoped he could save his friends as they had saved him once.

He exited the room, falling into step beside his brother who had been waiting outside. The walked silently across the great hall, passing through a door that led down a long hallway before he saw what he presumed to be the entrance to the war room. The wall had been partially knocked down in the hallway, stones still littered by the side, with bright, cheery sunlight peeking through to fall on the large doors in an almost angelic manner.

Hawke, of course, strode forward like he owned the place and thrust the doors open, entering with a saunter that perfectly embodied the confidence and nobility he exuded. Carver followed behind, standing straight and proud, for once feeling every bit the equal of his brother. He blinked in surprise when he saw that Cullen was standing on the opposite side of the table, currently immersed in a report and thus unaware of his presence.

“Thank you for joining us, Champion, Warden,” the Inquisitor said, her smile warm as she flashed it at the two men standing before her. “I know you had wanted to go ahead to Adamant, but I really felt it necessary to set out a proper plan first.”

“I understand the need for precaution, Inquisitor,” Carver replied, bowing respectfully. “I’m glad to be of use.”

“Let me introduce you to my advisors,” she responded, lifting a small hand to gesture at the three across from her. “This is Josephine Montilyet, the inquisition’s ambassador and my dear friend.” Carver inclined his head in greeting, marveling at how beautiful the Antivan woman was as she smiled at him. “This is Leliana Nightingale, our spymaster.” The redhead nodded at him, and he made a mental note to remain (if he was even currently) on her good side as he saw a dangerous glint in her eye. “And last but certainly not least is the commander of my forces, Cullen Rutherford.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Warden Hawke, though I would have preferred it be under better circumstances,” Cullen replied with a small smile. Carver wondered if he had imagined the look of shock and hope that had briefly flashed across the commander’s face, but he had little time to dwell on it as the Inquisitor pushed forward the meeting promptly. He answered all questions directed toward him, leaning over the large map of Ferelden and Orlais that was spread out on the table to help devise a route to the old Warden base. When a plan was agreed upon, the group decided to leave in a few days- enough time to let Cullen ready his troops to ride out to what could surely be war. When the meeting was adjourned, his brother sidled off to spend time with Varric and Fenris, leaving Carver contemplating what to do. He considered going to the tavern, but what he really desired was a bit of stress relief via the sword.

He found his way back to his room easily enough, grabbing the two-handed longsword he favored and heading outside to where he had seen the sparring ring earlier. It was blissfully abandoned, the setting sun causing most people to retire to less strenuous activities. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the muscles still tired from slouching on the horseback ride earlier. Taking a deep breath in and then slowly releasing it, he brought the sword up and swung it forward, connecting with the target easily. He let himself get lost in his movements, the feel of the grip in his hands and the _whoosh_ of the blade in the air both calming and stimulating to him.

He wasn’t sure how long he practiced before he finally felt eyes upon him, and he swung around to see the outline of Cullen leaning against the fence, dusk’s pale light barely enough to allow Carver to see his face.

“I must admit, I had forgotten how talented you are with a sword,” Cullen said, one side of his mouth curling up as Carver panted, lowering his sword to the ground. “It has been far too long since I last saw you in battle, my friend.”

“Yeah,” Carver agreed, pushing sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead. “Not since we took down the Knight-Commander back in Kirkwall.”

Cullen easily vaulted over the fence, strolling up to Carver slowly. “May I?” he asked, reaching toward the weapon Carver had been leaning on. He nodded, allowing Cullen to take it from him, surprised to see him flip it up and set the blade carefully in his hands, examining it closely. “Why don’t you drop this off at the armory and let our people repair it for you?” Cullen suggested, handing it back to him as he motioned to the building behind them. “I imagine you don’t get the option to stop at a weaponsmith often, so you may as well take advantage of it while you are here.”

Carver nodded, following when Cullen stepped forward to lead the short way to the smithy. When they entered, they were greeted quickly and Cullen handed the man the sword, giving him careful instructions before gently maneuvering Carver back outside. “Would you care to join me in my office for a drink and to play a game of chess?”

“Of course,” Carver replied without hesitation, thankful for the dimming light as he felt a blush creep across his cheeks. Cullen chuckled at his eagerness, simply turning and heading toward the ramparts. Carver followed, trying to tamp down the resurgence of emotion he felt regarding the man in front of him. Now was hardly the place or the time for such a thing, not to mention that he still believed the Commander held no interest in him.

Time passed quickly once they arrived in the small room, their game of chess all but forgotten as they exchanged stories of the time between Carver joining the Wardens and the present. Cullen had produced a bottle of strong mead, surprisingly not as horrible tasting as Carver would have expected. In fact, it had almost a smooth quality about it, easy to drink and easier to lose track of how much one drank.

“I never pegged you as a drinker, Cullen,” Carver joked as they finished up the last of the bottle, both shocked and disappointed to find it gone. “Always thought you were too prissy for that.”

Cullen chuckled as he took a sip of his, a red tinge spreading over his features that absolutely fascinated Carver. “Truth be told, I don’t usually drink,” he admitted, setting down the cup with a slightly shaking hand. “I thought tonight might be a good time to allow myself to partake in it, though.”

Carver shifted forward slightly, emboldened by the alcohol in his system. They had since pushed the small round table aside to allow them to stretch out, and when he sat as he was now, his knees brushed slightly against Cullen’s. “Yeah? Why’s that?” he asked as he set a hand tentatively on Cullen’s thigh, just above the knee.

There was a flash of heat in the commander’s eyes at the movement, and Carver inhaled softly, placing his own cup down as he allowed himself to hope. The red darkened on Cullen’s face, and he seemed to chew on the inside of his lip before he finally spoke.

“I had hoped it would allow me the courage to do this,” he said quietly before leaning forward to brush his lips gently across Carver’s, the touch so soft and brief that Carver hardly dared believed it had happened when Cullen pulled back slightly. “I must admit, Carver, that I am rather desperate. For this, for you,” he whispered, eyes searching Carver’s face.

“Well, I’m glad you can admit it,” Carver teased, allowing a smirk to creep over his own face. “At least I’m not alone.”

Awe bloomed in Cullen’s eyes, overtaking his face at Carver’s words. “You… you want this- me- too?” he asked, his voice colored with disbelief.

Rather than bother with an answer, Carver lunged forward, tangling his fingers into Cullen’s blonde hair as he kissed him, trying to pour everything he felt into the connection. He only broke away when he had to breathe, resting his forehead against Cullen’s as they both panted, trying to catch their breath.

“Will you stay tonight?” Cullen whispered, bringing a smile to Carver’s face.

“I will stay as long as you want.”


	5. Prompt #5- Carvrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Just once, I’d like us to go on a date that didn’t end in us having to get a motel room out of town because we don’t want to get caught.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver/Dorian, modern AU

“Is something wrong, Carver?” 

Carver started out of his thoughts, glancing to his side to see Dorian watching him in obvious concern. “No, course not,” he lied, flashing what he hoped was a convincing smile at the man beside him. “Just distracted is all.”

Dorian pursed his lips, running a finger along his mustache as he gazed at Carver with a look of suspicion on his face. “Mmhmm. I don’t believe you. Usually you are enraptured when we watch Game of Thrones, but today you are hardly paying it any attention.”

Carver huffed slightly, sitting up from where he had been laying on his belly and roughly shoving a stray piece of hair from his eyes. “Maybe I just don’t find this episode interesting,” he retorted sullenly, disliking the fact that he was being called out on his behavior. He didn’t particularly want to have the conversation that Dorian was pushing him toward.

Shaking his head, Dorian narrowed his eyes at him. “No, that’s definitely not it. The petulant tone you just answered my question in gives you away.” He moved closer to Carver, sliding an arm around the taller man’s waist and placing a kiss on his cheek. “You can tell me what’s bothering you; it’s what I’m here for, outside of the mind-blowing sex, that is.”

Carver allowed himself a small chuckle at the joke and accompanying smirk on Dorian’s face before he furrowed his brows in frustration. No way around it, then; he had to go there.

“I just,” he started, exhaling sharply as his nerves started to flare up. No going back now. “I’m just tired of this.”

Dorian pulled back, hurt blossoming across his face at the words. “Tired of what?” he asked softly, withdrawing his arm to fold both across his chest. “Of us?”

“No- Maker, no!” Carver blurted out, slapping a hand to his face in the aftermath of his own idiocy. Groaning, he dragged his hand down to let it flop helplessly in his lap as he tried to muddle through what words would work best to describe what he was feeling. “Not us- never us! I, I just… oh, bloody void. I just wish every date we had didn’t end up _here,”_ he forced out, gesturing wildly at the room around them. Dorian followed his hand, blinking in confusion at the motel room they were currently relaxing in.

“We’ve never been here before, Carver,” he replied, causing Carver to groan again.

“No, no, you’re not getting it. I just want to go on a _normal_ date, in public, without hiding away in a hotel room like you’re ashamed of me, Dorian.” There. He managed to say it, and the words lingered in the air between them for what seemed like eternity before Dorian finally responded.

“My father, you know how he disapproves…”

“So does my mother, you know that!” Anger was welling up inside of him as Dorian pulled out the same argument he always used, something he was beginning to think was just an excuse. “But that wouldn’t stop me from shouting off the rooftops that I’m yours. Are you? Ashamed of me, I mean?” Dorian hesitated briefly, just long enough to answer his question. “Right, fine, I get it. I’ll just go, then,” Carver snapped, throwing his hands in the air as he shot up off the bed, reaching over to grab his clothes and pull them roughly on.

“Carver, no- please, I didn’t mean-” Dorian started, standing quickly and reaching out to him. Carver batted his hands away as he yanked his shirt over his head and shoved his feet into his shoes, stomping toward the door.

“I can’t do this, Dorian. I can’t be your dirty little secret. When you’re ready to be with me- and I mean 100%- you know where I am,” he growled, casting a last glance at the horrified man behind him. He stormed out of the door, slamming it shut behind him without bothering to look back again.


	6. Prompt #6- Canders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Warden! Carver x Anders. Accidental groping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver/Anders

“Carver, it’s your turn for watch.”

The tent flap fell back into place as Carver groaned, sitting up and wearily rubbing at his eyes. Maker, how he hated sleeping in the bloody Deep Roads. Even after all these years as a Warden, he hadn’t adjusted to the slightly claustrophobic feeling he got from being completely surrounded by stone and the earth where a poorly-timed cave in could kill them all. Not to mention the increase in his darkspawn-ridden nightmares, the uncomfortably rocky floor and the frequency of which human-eating spiders appeared. The few hours of sleep he had managed tonight hardly felt like enough to continue, but as his sister had said, it was his turn to sit by the fire and keep watch, so it would have to suffice.

It didn’t help that he had been forced to share a tent. When they were a day in, their camp had been attacked by a group of darkspawn heavy on emissaries, and they set fire to about a third of their supplies. Of course two of their tents had been in that particular portion, and had been singed beyond use by the time the flames were put out. Aurellia had chosen to share a tent with Isabela, leaving Carver to share with Anders.

The group thought he hated the mage, but in reality, the opposite was true. He had been harboring fairly strong feelings toward the blonde-haired apostate since they had first met, but chose to hide them under a level of sarcasm and bitterness when he was made aware of how Anders pined for his sister. Besides, it was obvious the feelings were not reciprocated; Anders made sure Carver knew he didn’t care for the warrior’s company.

Carver hadn’t thought it possible, but he had found someone who slept worse than him. Anders had tossed all night, mumbling pleas for mercy from what he guessed were the remnants of the mage’s time in the circle in addition to the Grey Warden curse. He had wanted to reach out and comfort him, but not only was he unaware how to do so, he didn’t think the man would be particularly receptive.

But now was not the time to be considering such things. Aurellia was waiting for him to take over, and he needed to get moving.

He reached out, fumbling in the dark for his canteen of water, still half asleep as his hand groped blindly. His mind was muddled enough that he didn’t notice when he brushed over a leg, closing a hand experimentally around an object that made his tent-mate jolt and gasp out “Carver!?” in a tone of shock.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Anders,” Carver groaned out, quickly retracting his hand. “I was looking for my canteen and I-I was out of it, didn’t notice where I… Sorry.” He felt heat rushing across his cheeks, suddenly very glad it was dark enough that Anders couldn’t see him. “I’ve gotta go, watch, yeah.” He bolted forward out of the tent, still in his sleep pants.

“Shut up,” he mumbled when Aurellia looked at him in amusement. “I’ll get my armor in a moment. Should be fine for now.”

She shrugged and climbed into her tent without comment, leaving him alone by the fire. He sat down by the wall near it, leaning his head back against the cold stone and dragging a hand down in face. “Bloody good job making a jackass of yourself, Carver,” he muttered under his breath, staring into the flames. “It’s no wonder he hates me. Spend all this time wanting him but can’t ever seem to do anything right.”

“Carver?” He sucked in a breath at the familiar voice, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that Anders did not hear what he just said. “You uh, forgot your armor so I thought I’d bring it out to you.”

“Thanks,” he answered, refusing to open his eyes and look at the man before him. There was a pregnant pause before there was the sound of metal being placed on the ground followed by a body settling next to him.

Oh, bloody fantastic.

The silence was deafening between them, the sound of rocks scraping along the stone too loud when Carver shifted awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say, if Anders had heard him or if he simply wanted to talk about the incident in the tent.

What he wasn’t expecting was a slight inhalation of breath preceding a body moving next to him and lips brushing tentatively across his. His eyes flew open and he stared as Anders pulled back, the blush on his face sharply contrasting his freckled, pale skin.

Did that just happen?

Anders gave him a small, almost shy smile, biting his lip. Carver couldn’t take it anymore; he leaned forward, crashing his lips roughly into the mage’s, both relieved and thrilled when the kiss was returned enthusiastically.

“Maybe I should’ve groped you sooner,” he whispered against Anders’ lips, smiling at the small chuckle that the other man gave in response.

“Maybe you should’ve.”


	7. Prompt #7- Carvrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "You’re an idiot. I married an idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver/Dorian

It’d been a bad day.

A bad day in a bad week in a bad month… It just wouldn’t stop. 

Carver knew it would eventually catch up with him, but he had hoped the cure could be found, that the curse of his Calling would be stalled or completely lifted from him. But the song was there, calling him to the Deep Roads.

It had started out as a soft whisper in the back of his mind, something he had written off as sounds from the crowds of Minrathous, the elven servants roaming throughout the mansion or even the mansion itself- old houses do tend to make noise, after all. As the volume increased, he started to wonder if perhaps blood magic was being used to try to influence him, or if demons were knocking at his door.

Anything to deny the truth.

He could no longer pretend he didn’t know what it was, or what it meant. The taint was starting to show, beginning in his four extremities and creeping through his veins toward his heart. 

He was staring at himself in the mirror, running a finger along one of the black lines from his wrist to a bit past his elbow, forehead creased as he contemplated how to tell Dorian. His husband had been away on business for the past month, leaving shortly after the whispers started and was slotted to arrive back today. 

He didn’t deserve to have to watch Carver die. 

_No_ , he decided, reaching over to grab the rest of his Grey Warden armor. _I will tell him I have a mission to go on, and go to the sodding Deep Roads. He’ll think I died a bloody hero. He can grieve, and move on._ He pulled it on, completing the set of what he wore. 

The sound of the gate opening told him that he had finished just in time. He released a shaky breath, pushing a stray lock of black hair out of his eyes, turning to head downstairs.

It didn’t take long for Dorian to make his entrance, flamboyant and dramatic as ever. Confusion passed over his handsome face as he regarded Carver standing before him in full armor, a look quickly swept away as he strode up to the taller man and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. 

“Welcome back, Dorian,” Carver said as soon as they broke apart, a small smile curling his lips even as his thoughts were dark. Dorian returned the smile, though his was much larger and full of life, just like him.

“I am glad to be home. Now, why do you look so troubled, amatus? And why are you in full armor? No, wait. Come into the study; we shall discuss matters there.” Without waiting for a sign of confirmation, Dorian boldly strolled across the foyer to a side room that contained a fireplace, a large table and multitudes of books.

Carver followed reluctantly, his resolve wavering as he watched the man he loved place a couple of packages on the table in front of them. Dorian motioned for him to sit, but Carver shook his head; no, he needed to stand in order to get through this.

“Suit yourself,” Dorian said, shrugging as he plopped gracefully (and Carver marveled at how everything Dorian did had a certain grace to it, unlike him. He was always bumbling about, clumsy and _loud_ ) into a comfortably plush chair, still wearing that same smile from before. “Well? Do tell what is plaguing your thoughts.”

Carver shifted uncomfortably inside of his armor as he willed himself to start. “I, um. I’ve been called to do a mission in the Deep Roads, not far from here,” he mumbled, looking at the ground resolutely. “There’s been a sighting of darkspawn and uh, they need someone to check it out so that’s, um, me.”

There was a moment of silence before a soft chuckle made Carver snap his head up, looking in confusion at Dorian. “I do believe we’ve been married long enough that I can tell with absolute certainty when you’re lying to me,” Dorian said quietly, his tone somber. “So the question remains of why you think you need to go to the Deep Roads. Does this have anything to do with your Calling?”

Carver’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Dorian nodded slightly at the confirmation of his beliefs. “Yes, I thought that might be the problem. You see, before I left your nightmares increased, and you were calling out in a strange tongue. I recalled the stories of the Calling that Warden Stroud told us, and then I realized that your time would be drawing to an end, one way or the other, as the taint catches up with you.” Dorian stood, padding over to Carver and reaching out to tug off his gauntlet. A dark finger gently trailed over pale skin, tracing one of the black lines that originated at his hand. Carver fidgeted, dropping his eyes to the side, not wanting to watch his love face the inevitability of his death. 

“Oh, Carver.” A hand cupped his cheek, pulling him back to look down at Dorian. Who was smiling…? Carver’s brows knitted together as he stared at his grinning husband, trying to discern what there was to be _smiling_ about. “You are an idiot. I married an idiot.” Dorian dropped his hand, laughing quietly as he moved around the table to grab the smallest of the packages there. He lifted the lid off the box, gingerly reaching inside to pull out a small flask. “Did you really think that I would let you go so easily? That I would let you go down to the Deep Roads to die alone? Perish the thought, amatus. I recalled hearing of how Warden Amell searched until she found a cure for her lover, the King of Ferelden, and herself. That is where I went, to speak with them and see if the rumors were true. Which, coincidentally, they were.” He walked back around the table, pressing the small grey flask into Carver’s hands, hope shining in his eyes. “This was all they had left, but it should be enough to purge the Blight from you.”

Carver stared at the tiny container in his hands. Was the cure really in his possession? Could this really be true? “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he struggled to hold back the surging emotions he felt from Dorian trying so hard to save his life. 

“Thank me when it works, amatus,” Dorian responded, pushing gently on his hands. Carver understood what he wanted, unscrewing the lid and lifting the flask shakily to his mouth. He tossed back the liquid, flinching when he was unable to keep the foul taste from blossoming across his tongue. Setting the flask down on the table, he looked expectantly at Dorian.

“Now what?”

“If it works, now you pass out.” 

“What!?” Carver blinked at him, opening his mouth to ask more questions when the world started to tilt around him. “Oh no,” he muttered, stumbling drunkenly over to a nearby chair. He fell into it just before the world around him went black.

* * *

“Hush, amatus, it’s okay,” a gentle voice whispered above him.

Groaning, Carver slit open his eyes, looking around at the room he was in; _their_ bedroom, underneath covers in the most comfortable bed he’d ever had the luxury of sleeping him. “Whaaaa??” he managed to get out before a stabbing pain assaulted his head, causing him to screw his eyes shut and throw an arm over his face. “Ow.”

“Hmm. Yes, you’re going to feel rather poor for a while, I’m afraid. It will be worth it, however; you’re cured.”

“What?” Carver blinked his eyes back open, ignoring the rude light that was doing its best to make his headache worse. He instead looked at his arm, mouth dropping open when he noted the lack of blackening on his skin. “It’s- it’s gone?”

“Yes, amatus,” Dorian said gently, and Carver looked over to see him smiling fondly at him. “Now go back to sleep. You need to get your rest so your body can continue recovering.” He placed his hand on Carver’s forehead, a warmth spilling across his skin before Carver felt the strong lull of sleep calling to him once more. He drifted off once more, sleeping blissfully free of darkspawn dreams.


	8. Prompt #8- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver x Cullen
> 
> 36:“I sent a selfie of myself in the tub to the wrong number and you responded back with another selfie. Holy shit you’re really attractive.” au.

_Snap._

The gentle click of his phone let him know the picture had been taken successfully. Carver lowered his arms, bringing his phone closer to his face as he examined the product of his labor carefully, making sure that he was completely satisfied with what he saw. He had made sure to smirk into the camera, doing his best to master the ‘come-hither’ look his older sibling pulled off so effortlessly. He was in the tub, having made sure to use a soap that caused some bubbles so that he could arrange them to cover his special bits in an attempt to leave _something_ to the imagination.

Not that Isabela hadn’t seen it already, but that was beside the point. 

Pleased with what he saw, he selected the option to send it via text message and added “dont u wish u were here ;)” before scrolling through his contacts to hit her name. The telltale _whoosh_ came, letting him know that it had been uploaded into the network and was well on its way to her. With any luck, she’d be free and in the mood to come over tonight.

He relaxed in the bath, placing his hands behind his head and stretching out (as much as he could, anyway), enjoying the warm water as it lapped softly against his skin. It had been a rather horrific day at the academy today, his training to join Kirkwall’s guard becoming instantaneously harder as he progressed to the next level. He had been forced to spontaneously recite the laws of the land in front of his potential future employers, as well as explain how to properly handle certain situations when said laws were broken. 

Unfortunately, his particular brand of humor had been seemingly lost on them, and when he left for the day, he had resigned himself to the fact that he probably would be kicked out of the program for his poor choice of behavior.

Which is how he ended up here, in the tub, relaxing with a beer off to the side, texting Isabela semi-nudes in the hope that she’d be up for a romp to help blow off some steam.

His phone chirped and he reached over to grab it, sliding his thumb across the reader to open it without even bothering to look at who the message was from, assuming it was the response from Isabela to his earlier text.

Well, at least he was correct on part of that assumption.

His mouth fell open when his eyes landed on the picture of a strapping young man, all blonde curly hair and hazel eyes. He was blushing, Carver noticed, a shy smile gracing his face even as he posed in front of a mirror in naught but his smalls. And what a nice body he had; all lean and fit, a six-pack rippling along his abdomen and leg muscles to die for. Only when he was able to drag his gaze away from the image did he catch the text beneath it:

_I certainly wouldn’t mind being there, though I sincerely doubt that message was meant for me._

Carver’s brows knitted in confusion, and he checked to see if he had hit the right contact. Yep, he had selected Isabela, whom he had texted only last week. As he thought back to the last time he saw her, he realized that he had a slight recollection of her talking about someone stalking her and that she would probably be changing her number.

Apparently, that had happened already. Also, apparently this incredibly hot man now had it. Not that he was complaining, mind you.

_Ur right it was supposed 2 b for some1 else but i think im happy it went 2 u instead ;)_

He held his breath as he hit send, not sure if that was the right way to respond. He knew nothing about this other man and wasn’t sure if his flirting would go over well- especially since text is so emotionless. But he had sent a picture back, hadn’t he? So he must have at least a mild interest in something.

_Is that so? In that case, would you like to meet up for drinks sometime?_

A smile broke out across his face as he hurriedly responded with a “yes!“ As it turned out, both were free that very evening and they decided to meet at The Hanged Man. 

Carver couldn’t believe his luck. He had meant to text Isabela for a romp, but maybe, just _maybe_ , he could get something even better.


	9. Prompt #9- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40: “I thought you were my friend so I slapped your ass in greeting” au.
> 
> Culver

It was a beautiful summer day at the beach. The sky was a soft blue with the occasional fluffy cloud lazily floating along, offering a small amount of shade when passing overhead. The ocean was sparkling as it reflected the sunlight, the waves gently lapping at gorgeous white sand, inviting those nearby to go for a swim in the pleasantly cool water.

Carver was meandering down the boardwalk, taking in all the sights, sounds and - _Maker’s breath_ \- amazing smells Ostwick had to offer beach-goers. He was here on the invitation of his friend Max, the youngest and most rambunctious son of the Trevelyans, one of the more prominent noble families in the Free Marches. It was gratifying to have found someone so similar to himself among the high and mighty nobility, even more so when it led to him being invited to events he actually found _interesting_. Max brought him along to the rowdy parties, on the dangerous trips no child of any noble should partake in, and was happy to engage him in swordplay.

That had been the thing that had sealed the deal of their friendship; both were into the old art of battle with swords. Whereas Carver preferred the 2-handed longsword, Max tended toward large warhammers. It was an extremely satisfying workout to spar against his friend, and he was always kept on his toes.

But today was meant to be a day of relaxation, a day of fun. Carver had risen with the sun, as was his usual routine. He had excused himself from the mansion to go for a run on the boardwalk before anything opened, enjoying the feel of the brisk morning air against his skin and the sounds of the ocean to his side. Even after he had finished, went back and showered, Max still hadn’t been fully awake. So he had eaten and left, urging Max to find him at the beach when he was ready.

He made his way past a cart that was offering vinegar fries- a delicacy he knew to be delicious - barely managing to resist the temptation, and made a mental note to stop at get some around lunchtime. He spotted a familiar head of blonde curls up ahead of him, stopped at a drink vender, and he grinned, taking long strides to reach him.

“Finally decided to join the living, eh, Max?” he teased as he landed a friendly swat on the man’s ass. His friend jumped, the lemonade he had been holding flying out of his hand to spray all over the wood beneath them. When he turned to face Carver, Carver felt his smile change abruptly into a look of complete horror.

“I-I beg your pardon?” the other man stuttered, honeyed eyes wide in shock.

“Oh shit, I- Maker, I’m so sorry,” Carver groaned, dragging a hand down his quickly reddening face. “You look like my friend, and I thought- I don’t just go around slapping random guys on their ass… Not that you’re not cute, because you are and…I…am gonna stop talking now because this is mortifying.” Why did he always have to blabber when he was embarrassed? It would have been a bad enough even without the fact that the man in front of him was actually rather _hot_ , his blonde hair wet and falling in ringlets on his forehead while freckled pale skin showing off his blush rather handsomely. Not to mention the fact he was just in his swim trunks, water droplets still clinging to his well-defined chest and abdomen, drawing Carver’s eyes downward until he realized he was staring. He snapped his eyes back up to the man’s face, offering a sheepish smile, unsure what he could say.

“Ah, thanks? I think,” the man replied, rubbing the nape of his neck as he gave Carver a small, shy smile.

“Let me buy you another lemonade,” Carver blurted out, moving past him quickly to step up to the cart.

“No, that’s not necessary, really…” The weak protests died as Carver produced his wallet, handing the vender the amount due and turning around to present the drink to the now crimson man behind him. “I… Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Um, my name’s Cullen, by the way.”

“I’m Carver,” he responded, stepping out of the way of a couple who had been waiting to get drinks of their own. “And again, I’m really sorry about, you know… Slapping your ass.”

Cullen let out a soft laugh, taking a sip of his lemonade before responding. “It’s fine. Really. But uh… Do you really think I’m cute?”

It was Carver’s turn to let out a chuckle, staring at the man in front of him in disbelief. “Uh, yeah, I mean, that’s hardly even a valid question. Though I’m gonna change my answer, I think, and say you’re hot instead of cute.” He followed this up with a rather obvious wink, making the transition from apologizing to flirting smoothly.

If possible, Cullen turned an even deeper shade of red, dropping his gaze to the ground as a smile tugged at the sides of his lips. “In that case, uh, would you care to join me for a swim?”

“Oh, I’ll join you for a swim and _more_ , if you want,” Carver teased, sidling off in the direction of the water. He heard a huff of laughter and then footsteps that told him he was being followed, and he felt his heart leap in his chest.

Yes, he really did enjoy these things Max invited him to.


	10. Prompt #10- Carvrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt I took upon myself to write for a friend.
> 
> Modern AU, the Hawke kids + friends headed to go camping. Carver has had enough of Anders.

The ride to the beach was more annoying than it should have been.

The trip itself wasn’t any longer than anyone expected. Marian had decided to take the route around the Planasene Forest due to some superstition Merrill had spread through the group, which added on a couple of hours, but they still arrived at the cabin in a somewhat timely manner. Carver was overall rather excited about the holiday; not only did he enjoy spending time in the water and strolling along the boardwalk, he was also getting to spend a large amount of time with Dorian. He had been harboring feelings toward his friend for quite a while by this point, but was too afraid to say anything for fear of rejection. Dorian usually dated men who were high-class, like himself; fancy clothes, incredibly well-educated and often mages.

Carver was none of those things.

Yes, he fancied himself rather _clever_ , but he was nowhere near the intellect level of the men Dorian surrounded himself with romantically. So rather than ruin the friendship he had so carefully cultivated, he chose to let his feelings lie dormant. It was better to be near him as a friend than risk not seeing him at all.

The annoying part about the car ride was who _else_ he had to share the car with. The group had split into two vehicles, and the girls had refused to be separated, as usual, leaving the men to ride together. Which would be fine, except for one person: Anders.

Carver could not _stand_ Anders. He was smug, self-righteous and always treated Carver like a child. To top it off, he was dating his brother and could not.keep.his.hands.off.of.him. It was sickening, the way they constantly hung off each other, as though not touching would cause them to shrivel up and die.

Anders knew how he felt, and seemed to find it amusing. He was always teasing Carver, generally doing anything to rile him up and Garrett never lifted a finger to stop it. No, he would stand there laughing even if Anders stepped over the line of funny into cruel, only intervening if he felt _Carver_ went too far. That was, of course, how the entire ride went.

Dorian had been kind enough to step in a few times, trading banter easily enough with Anders and taking the spotlight off of Carver. At first he had been thankful for the help, knowing Dorian could more than handle himself against the other mage. But as the ride went on, the tone of the conversation changed slightly, becoming almost flirtatious in nature. Carver had crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the window, grinding his teeth as he wished Anders would disappear. Really, he could be anywhere but in the vehicle with him and Carver would be pleased.

By the time they reached the cabin, Carver stalked out of the car, beyond the point of done with his brother’s boyfriend.

“Carver? Are you okay?” Dorian asked as he followed him up the steps, both men carrying their luggage inside. Carver had teased Dorian when they had initially loaded it into the car, stating that he was bringing enough to last him weeks instead of only a few days. Of course, Dorian had a witty statement prepared that involved being ready for everything, and Carver had just laughed; he had expected as much out of his friend.

“Peachy,” Carver ground out, walking down the hall toward the room they would be sharing. He just needed to get away from Anders, to cool off, and then he’d be fine.

Of course he had no such luck.

“Hey Dorian, are you sure you wouldn’t rather share a room with us? I _guarantee_ we’re a lot more fun,” Anders called out, causing Carver to halt suddenly, Dorian nearly trampling him at the sudden stop.

“Hey, Anders? Fuck off,” Carver said as he turned to look at the blonde mage trailing slowly behind them. He was even swinging his hips in a seductive fashion, tossing a wink at Dorian. Carver felt the ugly beast of jealousy rising even higher within him when Dorian laughed at the action, winking back.

“See what I mean? It might be a little cozy with all three of us, but at least we know how to have a good time, if you know what I mean,” Anders purred as he came closer, smirking at Carver. “Better than this stick-in-the-mud, at least.”

Oh, that was quite enough. Before he even knew what he was doing, Carver had whipped around and grabbed Dorian by the collar of his blazer, pulling him closer and planting a scorching kiss on his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut when he realized what was happening, afraid to see the repulsed look that was surely on Dorian’s face. Dorian let out a small chuckle before returning the kiss, running his tongue against Carver’s lower lip. Carver let out a gasp at the action, pulling back to look at his friend in shock.

His friend who was currently smirking at him, looking slightly pleased. “Ah. The jealous type, are we?” he remarked, amusement apparent in his tone.

Carver blinked at him, trying to comprehend what had just happened. In the background he could hear Anders laughing loudly, letting out a whoop and wheezing “I knew it! _Andraste’s knickerweasles_ , I just knew it!”

“Ummmm,” was all Carver could manage to get out as he stared at Dorian, wide-eyed and completely too aware of the color filling his cheeks.

Dorian reached out, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go unpack. We can talk about this later, in private.”

Carver allowed himself to be pulled along, a small smile playing across his face. _Well,_ he thought even as Dorian dropped his hand to move to the empty closet. _Maybe this isn’t so hopeless after all._


	11. Prompt #11- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soulmate au “Okay, name one time pretending to be soulmates got us in trouble.”

“Okay, name one time pretending to be soulmates got us in trouble.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the man sitting next to him, one side of his mouth turning up in a smirk as he observed his fairly intoxicated boyfriend. “Just one?” he asked, taking a sip of the ale that had been placed in front of him. He had many stories he could tell, ones that would entertain, horrify and titillate any who chose to listen, but the list dwindled quickly when he had to think of those he would be willing to share with their present company.

The Inquisitor had come back from a mission along the Storm Coast, where he and his group had managed to slay the High Dragon that had been troubling those who populated the area. As such, both he and Iron Bull had declared it was worth a drink to celebrate a job well done, something Cullen normally would have avoided. Oh, he liked the Inquisitor well enough; he was the third child of House Trevelyan, a noble family from Ostwick in The Free Marches, and he kind and just, if not a little on the boisterous side. He and Carver had gotten along immediately, both prone to sarcasm and bitter about their elder siblings. It seemed that Max had not had any desire to become a Chantry brother and would have preferred to have joined the Templars as his older sister did. Cullen secretly was glad that had not been his fate, though he wasn’t sure that carrying the Mark was any better.

Carver had dragged him down to the tavern, insisting that he needed to be more social and worry less about his reports. He had always been unable to say no to the younger Hawke, and this was no exception. No sooner had they sat down than did that blasted dwarf Varric order him an ale, telling him that he needed to “loosen up and have some fun.”

He had plenty of fun in his room, thank you very much. No alcohol nor company outside of Carver needed.

Varric’s eyebrows shot up and a mischievous smile overtook his face as he glanced from Cullen to Carver. “Now _that’s_ something I’d be interested in hearing. Is that how you made it work when Curly was your commanding officer in the Templars, Junior? Because I heard there was a strict no-dating-your-subordinates code in place that you two managed to wiggle around somehow.”

“The records which would have held the identities of both of our soulmates were inaccessible for many years due to the damage from the Blight. Meredith had no way to check to see if we were telling the truth, and since I had been seen with Carver multiple times prior to him joining the Order, she had no choice but to believe it was true,” Cullen explained, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. “Of course, when the records _did_ become available, she was a little too occupied to bother to send for them.”

“Never mind that anytime you and I were together _before_ was because of my brother,” Carver interjected, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Not like we ever went on a date or anything.”

“That is true, but she did not need to know that, did she?” Cullen replied soothingly, laying a hand on top of Carver’s and rubbing gently. “Regardless of the how, we did meet and now here we are, so there is no use dwelling on the past, is there?”

Carver sighed, tipping up his cup to take a long drink of his ale before slamming it back on the counter. “Mmm, yes, well, it’s still another thing we can thank my brother for. Champion, mage and matchmaker extraordinare.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before making a decision that he hoped would head off the sour mood he could see developing. “I had intended to do this privately,” he said gruffly, removing his hand to open his cloak and pull out a folder he had hidden within. “When I last spoke with King Alistair, I mentioned offhandedly that I would like to have access to these to check out something I had a theory on. I received this by raven unexpectedly earlier today, and I think you might like to see what it is.” He opened the folder and pulled out a paper bearing the official royal seal of the King of Ferelden, setting it carefully on a dry spot on the table between him and Carver.

“What is this?” Carver asked, looking at him in confusion before turning to face it. “No, this can’t be…” he trailed off as one large finger slapped on the page, moving down past name after name until it landed on one he recognized. “That’s me,” he said, pointing at the script which indeed read _Carver Hawke._ “And that’s… you,” he finished softly when he moved his finger across to the space next to it, where _Cullen Rutherford_ was inscribed. He snapped his gaze back up to Cullen, any trace of drunkenness wiped off of his face.

Cullen smiled, eyes softening as he gazed lovingly at Carver. “Yes. It would seem there is no longer any need to _pretend_ that we are soulmates.” Carver remained staring, slack-jawed as Cullen carefully pulled the document out from under his splayed hand, placing it back in the folder and tucking it safely in his cloak once more. He needed to return it, after all.

He was unprepared for the limbs that entwined themselves around him as Carver _crawled_ onto his lap, placing a large, sloppy kiss on him in elation. When he pulled back, he let out a large _whoop!_ that was echoed by everybody in the tavern, causing Cullen to flush with both embarrassment and happiness.

A loud cough caused him to peer around the body of his boyfriend to see Varric still watching them keenly, a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. “I’m happy for you two, truly I am. But about that story….”


	12. Prompt #12- Culver (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way you said “I love you.“ 2. With a hoarse voice, under the blankets. Anything with Carver :P
> 
> This one is NSFW

The cool of the mattress felt amazing against his skin as Carver flopped onto his back, chest rising as he panted from the workout he had just had. Turning his head, he looked over in appreciation at the man beside him, blonde hair curled into tight ringlets damp from sweat, honeyed eyes closed and mouth slightly open, still working to regain his breath as well. Carver placed a hand on his cheek, skin sticky and hot, causing Cullen to open his eyes and look over at him, a small smile gracing his handsome face.

“Apparently I need to leave more often, if this is the welcome I will receive upon arriving back at the Gallows,” Cullen said, smirking. Carver snorted, leaning forward to press a bruising kiss against his lips.

“Apparently you do,” he responded when he pulled away, dropping his hand from Cullen’s cheek and letting it snake down his chest. He gripped Cullen’s hip, using it to pull himself closer, pushing himself up on his elbow so that he could lean down and properly kiss the man beneath him. The way their skin rubbed together sent electricity through him and he felt his cock twitch, despite the fact that they had already brought each other to completion once.

Chuckling, Cullen bit at his lip gently before pulling back, eyes twinkling with a mischief that Carver was still getting used to seeing in the normally stoic Knight-Captain. “Ready again so soon? You’ll be the death of me, my knight,” he quipped, brushing a hand lightly across Carver’s member which was, somehow, slowly starting to harden again.

“You left me alone for three weeks, Cull. We’ve got a lot of time to make up for, yeah?” Carver quirked an eyebrow at him, shifting himself that he hovered over Cullen, supporting himself on both elbows as he grinded gently against the man beneath him. The action drew a groan from both of them, Cullen’s fingers digging into Carver’s shoulder as he bucked up slightly. “Just tell me what you want,” Carver whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of Cullen’s lips as he continued moving his hips. “Tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything for you.”

Cullen reached up to grip Carver’s waist, wrapping his legs around him suddenly as he rolled them over, grinning down at the shocked look that had taken residence on Carver’s face. “You’ve already done so much for me,” he replied, releasing his grip as he slid slowly down Carver’s body, never breaking eye contact. Carver bit his lip as he watched him descend, placing kisses along the planes of his stomach and on each thigh, breath hissing through his teeth as Cullen kissed the tip of his hardened length gently. “Let me do something for you now.”

“ _Maker,_ I love you, Cull,” he gasped out, voice hoarse as he dropped his head to the pillow. He felt Cullen sit up suddenly, and he looked down at him in confusion, surprised to see a look of shock frozen on the man’s face. Suddenly it dawned on him what he had said, and thoughts started to swirl about his head in a panic. _Should I make a joke? Should I run with it?_ He tried to puzzle out how to respond, how to fix what he might have just broken. They had never spoke about whether or not their relationship was supposed to be more than fun, and honestly, when Carver had originally convinced the Knight-Captain to sleep with him, fun was all he was looking for. Somewhere along the way, feelings had come into play.

He let out a sigh and pushed himself up to his elbows, leaning forward to place a hand on Cullen’s cheek. “I do, you know,” he said, smiling at Cullen despite the anxiety coursing through his veins at his admission. He braced himself for rejection, assuming that he had crossed a line and was about to be thrown out of Cullen’s chambers. A shame, really; he rather enjoyed his time spent here.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen wheezed out, eyes wide as he stared down at Carver. “I never thought that I’d- wow. I-I love you too, Carver.”

Carver sat up and pulled Cullen to him, engaging him in a sweet and passionate kiss as he laid back, tugging the man to follow. “This wasn’t how I would’ve picked to tell you,” he whispered against Cullen’s lips, smiling when Cullen let out a small laugh.

“Life very rarely goes how we intend it to, my knight. Now, let me show you just _how much_ I love you.”


	13. Prompt #13- Canders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In awe, the first time you realised it" for canders?

It was a gorgeous autumn day in Kirkwall. The temperature was in the range where walking down the street you’d see some people in jackets while others were still in their t-shirts, hands tucked into pockets or holding onto steaming cups of some hot beverage. The leaves were a myriad of colors as they tumbled gently to the ground where they crunched when trod upon, the sound rising to join in a medley created by the world around them.

The park was particularly beautiful that day, the sun shining through the trees to scatter rays upon the oranges, reds and browns covering the grass, a small breeze creating an illusion of the colors shifting as the leaves blew along the path. Anders was sitting on a bench near the edge of the park that shifted into a copse of trees, reading one of his medical journals on his tablet as he waited. Carver had asked him to meet him here, and as usual, was late. Not that Anders particularly minded, necessarily; it gave him time to check through his email and catch up on his reading. Plus, Carver usually felt bad about being late and it meant Anders got _at least_ an extra kiss or two for waiting.

Hasty footsteps heralded the arrival of the younger man, and Anders smiled before the hands landed on his shoulders. “Guess who?” was whispered in his ear, followed by a quick bite before Carver pulled back, giving Anders a lopsided grin when he turned to look up at him.

Anders took off his reading glasses and slid them into his bag as he gazed at the man before him; dark hair offset by vibrant blue eyes, Carver was quite the sight to behold. His mouth twitched slightly as he forced it into a frown, narrowing his eyes at Carver in mock-anger as he said sternly, “you’re late.”

“I know,” groaned Carver, sliding around to sit on the bench next to Anders and giving him a sheepish smile. “I had to pick something up before I came, and it took a bit longer than I thought.”

It was only in that moment that Anders noticed the black carrier sitting on the ground beside Carver, and as he peered at it, he heard a slight shuffling inside followed by a rather pitiful mew. Eyes widening, he looked up at Carver, his eyes flitting back to the bag once more before settling on the man with the largest smile he’d seen in a while gracing his face. “Is that…?” he asked, trailing off at the end, not wanting to get his hopes up.

“A kitten? Why yes, it is,” Carver responded to the unfinished question, reaching down and picking up the carrier. He unzipped the front, reaching in to pull out a fluffy ball of orange fur, handing it gently to Anders. Anders took the small kitten, running his hand gently over it as he held it to his chest, cooing into its ear. “I uh, remember you talking about having one with Karl and, well, you always say you love cats… I saw this one in the window of the pet store and thought of you, and uh, well, you know the rest. She’s ah, she’s a girl, by the way.”

Anders raised his eyes to see Carver had flushed a deep red and was shoving back a lock of hair that had fallen forward, a sign that he was nervous. “She’s lovely, Carver,” he said, smiling back down at the tabby who had curled up on his chest. He had been dithering on whether or not to get another cat because he wasn’t actually home all that much, and while cats didn’t need the level of attention of, say, a dog, they still required _some_.

“And I know you weren’t sure you’d have the time for a pet, so I figured I’d offer to help take care of her? You know, feed her, pet her, take her for a walk or whatever…”

Unable to contain a snort, Anders smirked and raised an eyebrow at Carver. “Cats don’t go for walks, you goof,” he laughed, placing a gentle kiss on her soft head. “I’ll call her… Fluffykins,” he stated, cuddling her a little closer, eliciting a purr from the tiny ball he held.

“Fluffykins?” Carver asked, shaking his head as he smiled in amusement. “Whatever. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll drop by your house to do it, yeah?”

“I love you,” whispered Anders reverently as he looked at the man before him, the words slipping out before he even had a chance to consider them. He felt the blush creep across his face as soon as he realized what he had said, and he bit his lip as he watched with bated breath to see how Carver took the declaration.

Carver’s eyes became saucers as he stared at Anders, mouth falling slightly open. “I… you do?” he inquired, and Anders frowned at hearing the slight doubt hidden in his voice.

“I do,” he replied, leaning forward to place a kiss on Carver’s lips, conscious of the small body between them. “I love you, Carver Hawke.”

It was like a beacon was lit within him, Carver’s face shining like the morning sun as Anders pulled away. “I love you too, Anders!” he said, beaming joyfully at Anders and reaching out to pet the kitten softly. “I’m so glad you like her.”

“Move in with me,” Anders blurted out, grabbing Carver’s hand and entwining their fingers. “Move in with me,” he repeated quietly, rubbing his thumb over Carver’s. “Then you don’t have to come over to help with the kitten, since you’ll already be there,” he joked, trying to lighten up the suddenly heavy conversation.

Carver simply continued to smile at him, squeezing his hand. “Play off my laziness, why don’t you,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”


	14. Prompt #14- Canders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you be happy here with me?"

“Could you be happy here with me?”

Anders glanced up in surprise, his hand stilling in its movements. Carver was looking away from him, one hand running through his hair to push the lose tendrils out of his face while his other fidgeted with the arm of the chair he was sitting on, plucking at lose swatches of fabric.

“What do you mean?” he asked, resuming running his palm along the deep gash right above Carver’s knee. Blue light engulfed the skin as flesh knitted back together, a ridge forming along the top as Anders pulled away. He sat back on his ankles, placing his palms on his thighs and looking at Carver.

Carver raised his eyes to meet Anders’ gaze, uncertainty etched across his face. “Would you stay? Please?”

“Carver, I-“ Anders started, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathed out through his mouth. As much as he would love to stay with him, it wasn’t wise to linger in one place too long. He was already risking a lot by being here in the first place; Skyhold was well-guarded, and despite the fact that Carver had managed to sneak him in without being detected (though he had no illusions, he knew the spymaster had to know), it wouldn’t be safe for him to stick around and risk being discovered. He was still wanted for the destruction of Kirkwall’s chantry, after all. “It wouldn’t be safe for me to,” he finished lamely, smiling sadly at the man before him.

Carver slid off the chair suddenly, crashing to his knees in front of Anders and grabbing his hands. “I’ll make it safe,” he said, desperation in his voice. “Look, we’re not on the best terms with the Chantry as it stands and we could always use more healers. Just let me get the three bosses on board and you’ll be fine, I promise.” Anders closed his eyes and nuzzled the hand that Carver placed on his cheek, enjoying the feel of the warrior’s rough palm against his skin.

“Cullen would never agree to it,” he replied softly, and he felt Carver squeeze his hand. Perhaps the other two could be convinced, but he wasn’t about to bet that the former Templar would jump on the bandwagon to give protection to the possessed apostate who was the catalyst to this whole war, regardless of the fact that he was the Inquisitor’s lover, and had been for many years.

He felt the soft brush of Carver’s lips against his, Carver leaning his forehead against his as he said, “let me worry about Cullen. If they agree, if we can protect you… would you stay? Could you be happy?”

Anders opened his eyes to look into the entrancing blue of Carver’s, a small smile playing across his lips. “Yes. Yes, to both.”


	15. Prompt #15- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say Carver is a Templar (bc that is how he gets to know Cullen right?), how does he feel quitting lyrium with Cullen? Does he quit?

“Ser? May I speak with you privately?” Cullen turned to see Carver standing at attention, face carefully neutral, though Cullen wasn’t fooled. He could see the mixture of worry and anger rolling through eyes the color of the clear blue sea, a storm brewing that he needed to address sooner rather than later.

“Break, soldiers! We will reconvene after lunch, and I expect you to know how to use your shields to block!” Cullen dismissed his charges, waving for Carver to follow him back to their office. Carver easily fell into step beside him, an air of comfortable professionalism between the former templars as they made their way through Skyhold’s courtyard.   
  
Their relationship was no secret to the other members of the inquisition, but Cullen insisted they maintain the act they had crafted so perfectly in Kirkwall out of respect for their positions. As Commander, it was his job to keep the army at its best, constantly implementing new training regimens to keep his soldiers on their feet. Carver oversaw the newer recruits while Cullen handled those who had been with them longer, a system that suited the two of them well.

They climbed the stairs to the battlements, Carver’s long legs allowing him to reach the office first, holding open the door and beckoning impatiently for Cullen to enter. Rubbing the nape of his neck nervously, Cullen did as he was bade and moved past the taller man, leaning against his desk as he watched Carver shut the door.

“Upstairs,” demanded Carver, pointing a finger at the ladder that led up to their shared loft.

Maker’s breath, that’s not a good sign, Cullen thought as he obediently made his way up the rungs, Carver following closely behind. While little extra privacy was actually provided by the small room - they had not locked the doors, so scouts, soldiers and other members of the Inquisition were still bound to move freely through - most people were decent enough to recognize the desire to be left alone and would thus keep moving rather than hang about.

Absentmindedly Cullen rubbed his temples, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had been building up all morning there. He took a seat on the side of their bed, closing his eyes as he pressed his fingers in a little firmer.

The sound of Carver clearing his throat made him snap them back open and look up at the man standing before him, all trace of cool neutrality replaced by something akin to concerned anger. “Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly up into the blue eyes. “I fear I am rather more tired than I thought.”

Carver snorted, quirking an eyebrow at him. “You expect me to believe that?” he asked in a disapproving tone. “Tell me something, Cullen - were you ever gonna tell me you quit taking lyrium?”

Cullen reeled internally, not having expected to be called out on his secret. He’d thought that he had been doing a fairly good job about hiding his withdrawal symptoms, but perhaps it’d been foolish to try to keep it from his lover.

“How did you know?” he inquired, scratching his neck as he gazed up at Carver guiltily.

Another snort. “Please. Give me some credit, Cul. The mood swings, the headaches, the inability to focus? Not to mention the amount of sleep you get is gradually dwindling… I’m not stupid, I’ve seen all those before in templars cast from the Order.”

Cullen raised his chin defiantly, narrowing his eyes at Carver. “It’s the right thing to do. I refuse to start taking it again.”

Carver’s face softened, and he sat next to Cullen on the bed, placing a hand over his. “Is that why you didn’t tell me? You thought I’d tell you to keep taking it?” When Cullen didn’t answer, his eyes cast to the ground, Carver sighed, tucking a finger under Cullen’s chin to bring him back up to meet his gaze. “Cul. I’m glad you stopped taking it. I only wish you had told me.”

Eyes widened, Cullen stared at Carver in equal parts awe and shock. “You… you are?” Carver nodded, and Cullen felt a smile creep across his face. “Thank the Maker! I am sorry for not telling you, truly. But… what about you?” At Carver’s confused look, Cullen continued, “with lyrium, I mean. Will you continue to take it?”

He jumped slightly at the loud laugh that burst from Carver, brows knitting together as he tried to discern what was so funny. Was it that outrageous of a thing to hope that his love would also break his chains?

Quieting upon seeing the befuddled and mildly hurt look residing on Cullen’s face, Carver smiled at him reassuringly. “Cul. I haven’t taken lyrium since Meredith fell.”

Cullen reared back, incredulity etching itself into his features. “But how?” was all he managed to squeak out, his mind pulling forth memories of Carver since that fateful day, looking for validity to his claim.

Still smiling, Carver drew one of Cullen’s hands to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips across scarred knuckles. “I never took it as regularly as you. My father spoke of the addiction and how it muddled the minds of even the best templars. So I was careful.” He shrugged, his grin unapologetic as he continued. “I only used my ration when absolutely necessary, so quitting wasn’t so bad for me.”

The bed frame whined as Carver scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Cullen and murmuring into his ear, “let me help you. Let me make the pain worth it.” He nipped at Cullen’s neck, sending shivers cascading down his spine. Cullen twisted around, planting a hungry kiss on his lips while Carver pushed his cloak off his shoulders.

“Mmm, show me how you’ll make it worth it,” Cullen whispered against soft lips, moaning when Carver raked his fingers across the back of his neck before starting to undo the buckles to his breastplate.

Below them, the door slammed open and the lilting voice of the Inquisitor rose as she called out “Commander! You are needed in the War Room.” There was a slight pause as Carver lowered his head to Cullen’s shoulder, letting out a small groan of protest at the interruption. “Carver, you may want to join us for this, as well,” she added, and it was obvious that she was smiling. Soft footsteps padded across the stone, the door clicking shut behind her as she left them alone one more.

“Duty calls,” Cullen said hoarsely, releasing Carver to rise off the bed. He leaned down, fingers catching the cloak and pulling it around his shoulders once more as he turned to smirk at Carver. “But I expect a full demonstration of your proposal when we return.”

Carver’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he too rose, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “As you say, ser.”


	16. Prompt #16- Canders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s me…? Hell, it’s me. It really is me. You’re ruined.”

Anders jumped to his feet as the door to his clinic came crashing open, staff in hand and skin cracking blue at the unexpected intrusion. He had extinguished the light out front a little while earlier and had retired to work on his manifesto for the evening, lost in his thoughts until the noise startled him. His first thought was that he was about to be raided by Templars, but he lowered his weapon upon seeing it was Hawke who had blasted the door open with her force magic, followed closely by Fenris and her little brother.

 _Andraste’s knickerweasles, what is Carver doing here?_ he wondered as he watched Hawke point to one of the cots, running blood-stained hands through her curly red hair. Carver slumped over slightly, a sullen look on his face as he trudged forward, plopping down on the indicated cot with all the grace of a druffalo. His face as well as his armor was covered in the type of muck that came about from mixing dirt with blood, and his skirts were stained a dark red. Understanding dawned on Anders, and he rushed forward, grabbing a few healing poultices on his way.

“What happened?” he asked, looking from Hawke to Fenris to the pouting Carver, relieved to see that he was the only one bearing any sort of sign of injury. “Take off your armor,” he instructed, setting the vials he carried down on a nearby table.

“He was kidnapped by Grace and the rest of the mages from Starkhaven and a few rogue Templars,” Hawke explained, watching her brother with concern. “They put him to sleep using blood magic, and that was how he was roused, as well. He says he’s fine, but I want him to get checked over before I send him back to the Gallows, just in case.” 

Anders nodded, quirking an eyebrow at Carver when he made no move to undress. “This will go a lot faster if you do as I say,” he stated, gesturing at the stained armor once more. “Take it off so I can look you over.”

“I don’t see why I’ve gotta do this,” Carver grumbled, reaching for the straps that held his pauldrons on. “I didn’t even get to fight the assholes. I’m _fine_.” He tossed them to the ground carelessly, moving on to divest himself of his gauntlets next.

“Please, just let Anders make sure of that. For me?” Hawke pleaded, green eyes wide as she stared at her brother. Carver rolled his eyes and waved her off, pulling off his breastplate to reveal the tabard beneath.

“Fine, I’ll do it for you, sister,” he replied, his hands stalling at the skirts he wore. “But I’d rather not get undressed with you watching. So go home, yeah? I know my way back to the Gallows well enough.” He reached down to pull off his boots instead.

She hesitated a moment, looking like she might argue when Fenris butted in, placing an arm around her shoulders. “Let him be, Aurellia. He will be fine.” She turned her gaze to him, nodding slowly before smiling at her brother.

“Fix him up, will you?” Anders inclined his head, waiting for her to leave so Carver would finish undressing. “Thank you, Anders. Good night, Carver.” With that, she and her elf turned to leave, stepping over the splintered remains of the door. “Um, I’ll get somebody to fix this,” she called, sheepishly grinning at Anders before they disappeared from sight.

Carver shook his head as she left, hands working to untie the sash that held up the skirt. “My sister always did have a flair for dramatic entrances,” he joked, shoving it down so that all he was left wearing was his chainmail and the tabard beneath. “I really am fine, though,” he assured Anders, even as he pulled the two remaining parts of his armor over his head smoothly.

Anders did his best to remain professional despite the fact that there was now a man standing before him in nothing but his smalls. A rather _handsome_ man, at that, well-built and with the defined muscles that come from years of being a warrior. Clearing his throat, he did a quick visual check before sending out a weak wave of magic to pulse through Carver’s body, relieved when it came back with nothing out of the ordinary.

“You’re right,” he said, smiling as he gestured to Carver’s clothes. “Nothing to worry about. The only thing I sensed was that your soulmark has finally completed?” Not that it was any of his business, but the whole business with soulmarks fascinated him. The concept that there was another person out there that shared the same pattern as you, drawing you together as though it were fate, was incredibly romantic to Anders. He’d seen only two complete sets, both among his friends; Hawke and Fenris both had theirs tucked away behind one of their ears, a small cluster of stars that bound them together. Merrill and Isabela had matching marks that resembled waves on the top of their feet, a fact that had caused Merrill to giggle and blabber on about how the Dalish didn’t believe in them.

Anders had a series of squiggles that didn’t look like anything in particular on his hip, a rather inconvenient place for it to be located. It meant that it wasn’t so easy to spot its match on another person, but he had honestly long given up on finding someone and at this point, it would only be a cruel thing to do.

The chainmail jingled as Carver grabbed it, setting it next to him as he slipped his tabard on first. “Yep,” he confirmed, tugging the chainmail on next, standing up and moving it until it sat right on him. “It took forever, but it’s finally done.”

“Can I see?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, and Anders’ eyes widened in horror as he stammered out, “i-if you’re comfortable showing me, that is. I just like to look at them, they’re quite intriguing to me.”

Carver chuckled, setting the skirt he had picked up on the cot and turning so that his left side faced Anders. “Sure,” he said, one hand lifting up the chainmail and fabric underneath while the other hooked into his smalls. Before Anders could truly comprehend what he was doing, Carver, shoved the side of his smalls about a third of the way down his leg, revealing a perfect match for what was currently residing under Anders’ robes. “It’s kinda weird, yeah? Most of the ones I see look like something but this is just a bunch of squiggly lines. Figures I wouldn’t get anything cool.” He tugged the smalls back into place and dropped his hand, reaching out to grab the skirt again.

Anders fell back onto a cot behind him in shock, mouth hanging open as he stared at Carver’s now-covered hip. Why now? Why would he find this out _now?_ And why _him_?

“Anders?” Carver paused after tying his sash, tilted his head as he looked at Anders curiously. “Are you okay?”

“That’s your soulmark?” Anders knew the question was redundant, but he was in a state of disbelief, his mind stuttering and barely able to work. “I… _Maker._ ” He pulled up the side of his robes, staring down at his own mark in incredulity. Carver followed his gaze, making a strangled noise when he saw the wavy lines sitting on the pale, freckled hip. “It’s me.” Anders laughed nervously, dropping his robes and turning to stare at Carver with wide eyes. “Maker, it really is me. I… you’re ruined.”

“Ruined?” Carver’s brow furrowed as he moved over to crouch in front of Anders, eyes searching his face and placing a hand on his knee carefully. “Dunno how this would _ruin_ me. Because you’re a mage, an apostate, and I’m a Templar?”

Anders shook his head; no, that was the least of their problems now.

Carver’s face softened and he placed a hand on Anders’ cheek. “Look, if we’re meant to be together, then that’s that. Templar or not, I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy, okay? And I want to get to know you better. To become what we’re supposed to be, yeah? I know you’re a good person, you give so much for nothing, so don’t worry about it. We’ll make this work, you and me, I promise.”

Tears prickled his eyes as Anders stared at Carver, wishing he had found him years ago, maybe before he had started down the path he was on now. Because as much as he wished it wasn’t so, it was too late. He was going to break Carver’s heart in the end.

He swallowed and flashed a small, sad smile at the man before him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said thickly as the tears finally fell.


	17. Prompt #17- Culver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Name)? We need to talk… There’s something I have to tell you. Or show you, I guess. Please don’t be mad. I would have never - I’m sorry. But it’s your name. It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is never given an exact year of birth (to my knowledge) but it appears to be widely speculated that he was born around 9:11 Dragon. For this fic, I am edging him back to 9:10 Dragon, the year before Carver was born.

The mess hall was loud, not unusual for the time of day that it was. Mages and Templars alike were cycling in and out, anxious to get their hungry paws on whatever the cooks had prepared for them today. Carver was lucky enough to arrive early, as he did nearly every day, allowing him first pick at the options set before them. The table he chose to sit at was slowly populated as his friends came in; first was Ruvena, followed by Paxley, Hugh, Moira and, finally, Keran. The conversation today centered on some new mages the hunters had brought in, a group of four, all age thirteen or under. Carver himself had led them to their quarters, doing his best to help them settle in and let them know they had a friend in the Templars, should they need one. He always did his best to let the mages know he was not there solely to make their lives difficult.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder, turning to look up into the rather harried face of the Knight-Captain. “Ser!” he cried out, offering his best salute from where he sat, simultaneously curious and alarmed that he had attracted the man’s attention.

“At ease, Knight-Corporal,” Cullen sighed, dropping his hand from Carver’s shoulder. Taking a step back, he beckoned for Carver to follow as he turned and started to walk away. Carver blinked in surprise before standing up quickly, clumsily getting his leg caught underneath the table and causing his friends to all snigger at him in amusement. He untangled himself and made a rude gesture at them before pursuing Cullen, his long strides allowing him to catch up easily.

“Ser?” he questioned, tilting his head as he looked at his superior who was currently rubbing the nape of his neck. He only did that when nervous or vexed, a fact that set Carver on edge. He dredged his memory for something he could have done that would have upset the man, but he came up empty-handed. Maybe it had to do with Aurellia?

Cullen didn’t answer, instead continuing to walk in silence in the direction of his office. Carver offered small nods at those he passed as they continued, doing his best to keep his face neutral despite the worry piling ever higher within him. Gradually they made it to their destination, Cullen stepping inside and motioning for Carver to join him before shutting the door, _locking_ it and heading around to sit in his chair.

Carver stared at the locked door a little longer than he probably should have, eyes wide in trepidation. Why would he have _locked_ it? If he thought he was confused before, he was completely dumbfounded now.

“Please, sit,” Cullen said, pointing at one of the open chairs in front of his desk. Carver gingerly lowered himself into it, chewing the inside of his cheek as his anxiety continued to peak. Cullen let out a rather noisy breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a few moments before finally starting to speak. “Ser Carver. We need to talk… There is something that I need to tell you. Or show you, as it were.” He carefully picked up a piece of paper from the table, and Carver was surprised to see that he recognized the stationary it was written on. Elegant and formal, it was reserved for any sort of communication from the court of the King of Ferelden. He furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the letter, curious what the contents were, and how they related to him.

“As you know, many of the archives in Denerim were heavily affected by the Blight. Some were completely wiped out, but many were in disarray. One of these collections contained the ritual to determine one’s soulmate.” Cullen paused, setting down the letter and taking a sip of water from a glass he had sitting nearby. “It has finally been restored and made available to those who are of age to undertake the process.”

Carver sat back, nose scrunched, a large frown on his face. “What’s that got to do with me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t do that ‘til next year.” And it was the truth; in order for the ancient magicks that were called upon to work, the person undertaking the ritual had to reach their 24th name day. Carver had another 8 months or so to wait before he could find out a thing.

“No, you can’t. But _I_ can,” replied Cullen, voice barely louder than a whisper. “And I did.” He hesitated briefly before opening a drawer and producing a gold-lined scroll, reaching across the table and offering it to Carver. “Please, do not be angry,” he said, withdrawing his hand as Carver accepted the document, sitting back in his chair and unrolling it slowly, eyes widening at what he saw embedded neatly on the paper. “It’s your name. It’s you.” Cullen’s voice had become even quieter, but Carver barely registered what he said as he traced a finger over the beautiful gold writing.

> _Carver Hawke, Knight-Corporal of the Templar Order, son of Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. Current location: Kirkwall._

“It’s me,” he breathed, disbelief coloring his tone. He snapped his eyes back up to Cullen, finding him fidgeting in his chair, red blooming across his face as he watched Carver.

“I’m sorry. I would have never – I’m your commanding officer, please understand, I didn’t mean –“

Carver let out a sigh of relief, smirking at the sudden inability of his Knight-Captain to speak in a complete sentence. Standing suddenly, he leaned over the desk between them, dropping the scroll and placing both hands on the surface as he placed a soft kiss on Cullen’s lips. “Why would I be mad?” he murmured, punctuating the end of the sentence with another brush of his lips against Cullen’s. “I couldn’t have asked for better news.”

Cullen pulled back slightly, his bright hazel eyes searching Carver’s face with a hint of hope in them. “Truly? You are fine with this… arrangement?”

Chuckling, Carver lifted a hand and placed it under Cullen’s chin, running his thumb across the man’s lower lip softly. “You’re better than I ever hoped for,” he responded, his lips quirking into a genuine smile as Cullen’s face lit up with joy.

“Thank the Maker,” was all Cullen said before reaching up to tangle his bare hands into Carver’s hair, pulling him down for another kiss.


	18. Prompt #18- Carver/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates!AU, Carver/Merrill, “God, I love you so much. I know what I said before, but you’re everything I think about, everything I want, I don’t wanna turn my back on this. I don’t care what a piece of paper says or doesn’t. I’d still want this, you, if it didn’t say a thing.”

There was a small thump as a body plopped down across the table from him, but he kept his eyes trained on the mug of ale between his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not after what had transpired between them only days prior. He should be gone back now, on the road back to the Grey Wardens; the Warden-Commander had only granted him enough personal leave to travel to the Vinmark Mountains and back to discover why Carta assassins had make several attempts on his life. But leaving was turning out to be much harder than he had anticipated.

“Car-ver,” came the soft, lilting voice he loved to hear, tinged with a sadness he had never wanted to hear take root in her. At least, not caused by _him_ ; he could do little to nothing about the rejection she dealt with from her clan and the other elves in the alienage, but he had hoped to never do any damage himself. How did that old adage go? Something about always hurting the ones you love.

He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware that he had been holding, taking a big swig of the ale and wiping away the remaining droplets with the back of his hand. Keeping his eyes trained on the table, he responded in a hoarse voice, “why are you here, Merrill?”

A sound strangely resembling a sob seemed to catch in her throat and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to resist the urge to reach out and fold her into his arms. No, they needed to remain apart; it was better this way.

“Why are _you_ still here?” she retorted, and he drug his eyes up to look at her. Her dark face was paler than usual, the salty paths left from tears still visible on her cheeks. He flinched at the look of hurt in her large green eyes, looking away quickly as his own face contorted to reflect his inner despair.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, a hand ungracefully shoving back a stray lock of black hair that had fallen to dangle in front of his eyes. “I should’ve left by now.”

“This isn’t right!” she cried suddenly, obviously louder than she had meant to, for when he looked back at her she had a look of surprise on her face and had hunched into herself, making her already small, elvhen form look even tinier and frailer than usual. “This isn’t right,” she repeated, quieter this time, looking at him pleadingly. “And you know it. _That’s_ why you haven’t left yet.”

“And what would you have me do?” he snarled, feeling like she slapped him in the face when she recoiled from his anger. _Calm. Down._ he told himself, taking a deep breath to try to compose himself before continuing. “It’s too little, too late, Merrill. I’m already a Grey Warden, I can’t change that now. You don’t deserve this, to be shackled to someone like me.”

“But that’s not your choice, is it?” she said, leaning forward with a familiar fire in her eyes. They had had this argument before many times, but the most recent one had ended up with him storming out, telling her that he would never see her again. He had only made it as far as The Hanged Man before deciding to drown his sorrows in poor ale, but he hadn’t expected her to track him down.

“I didn’t know much about soulmates, since the Dalish choose not to follow the ancient magic that reveals such things. But I’ve done some reading, and some asking around, and I even spoke to Anders!” Carver blinked in shock, less about Merrill having chosen to talk to Anders but about the fact that it sounded like Anders actually engaged her in a conversation. He had always made his dislike of the blood mage quite clear. “He-he said that if we are listed, the Grey Wardens won’t keep us apart. They _can’t_ keep us apart, though I didn’t quite understand why that’s so. Don’t you see? We _can_ still be together.” She stood up and moved around the table, taking a seat at his side and staring up at him in determination. “I can wait for you here, when you’re given leave to see me, or-or maybe I can become a Warden? If they’d take me, that is. Mythal knows they may not be open to the idea of a blood mage but I’ll do anything to stay with you. Creators, Carver, I love you, please don’t do this to me…”

He silenced her by swooping her up in his arms and placing a kiss on her pillow-soft lips. She squealed in surprise but responded enthusiastically, looking rather dazed when he sat her back down. He placed a hand on her cheek, a smile slowly growing across his face as he gazed at her in adoration. She had gone through so much trouble to find a way for them to work. He still didn’t believe it was fair to her, but who was he to deny her something she yearned for with all of her heart?

“Does this mean… you’ll still be my soulmate?” she asked hopefully, placing a small hand on top of his and pressing it into her cheek more.

He chuckled, lowering his head and shaking it slowly before returning his gaze to her. “That’s- that’s not how soulmates work, Merrill. I can’t just choose _not_ to be, but I can choose to ignore it because I don’t think it’s what’s best for you. No, let me finish,” he said, holding up a finger to her lips when she furrowed her brows and opened her mouth to interrupt. His look softened as he watched the play of the light across her face, felt her hair brushing against his hand as she tipped it up further to look at him. “Maker, I love you so much. I… I know what I said before, but you’re everything I think about, everything I want. Merrill, I don’t wanna turn my back on this. I don’t care what a piece of paper says or doesn’t. I’d still want this, you, if it didn’t say a thing.” He leaned down to give her another kiss, smiling when he pulled back. “I’m sorry, for everything I said and for doubting that we could make this work. I just want what’s best for you, what’s most likely to make you happy. Being stuck with someone in the Grey Wardens isn’t a fate I’d wish upon anyone.”

“Well, it’s a fate I choose,” she replied brightly, beaming at him in a manner that made his heart flutter. “I love you, Carver, soulmate or not. Don’t ever forget that.”


	19. Prompt #19 - Carver/Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "omg i just got the idea.... what if modern au carver was like that dude who makes rly big swords, and he was doing a photoshoot Very Loudly right in front of anders vet clinic and anders goes out planning on being like "wtf dude what is that why are you here" but then he gets out there and just stares at the hot muscled dude wielding a big sword and hes like... shit ive caught the gay"

Anders didn’t usually work on Sundays, but one of his regular clients had called him in distress when her dog was hit by a car. Upon hearing her story, he had, of course, rushed right to his clinic to meet her, spending most of the morning working on the golden retriever who had been rather fortunate, all things considered. He had sent her away about 45 minutes ago, dog in tow with very specific instructions on how to take care of her pet and was currently working on finishing up paperwork. Last night had been a bachelor party for one of his friends from his time at Wardens University, and he had challenged Oghren to a drinking contest. Had he realized just how hungover he’d be the next morning or that he’d end up coming in to work, he would’ve kept his mouth shut - probably. Groaning, he held an ice pack against his forehead while doing his best to focus on the words in front of him. Adrenaline kicking in is what allowed him to work on the dog; now that it had faded, he was really struggling.

Suddenly music started to blare from outside and he nearly toppled out of his chair in shock. He was not expecting such a thing in the first place, but the hangover was making it feel like the bass was shaking his brain apart into little pieces bit by bit. Standing up, he placed his palms on the desk to steady himself and to tamp down the nausea that had flared up from the change of position while wondering what on thedas would be causing music to play outside of his clinic. He was on the outskirts of town, hidden behind some trees. He didn’t share a parking lot with anyone, though he knew that occasionally people came out on the weekends to walk the trails that were behind him as he was located in a very beautiful part of the country. Still, that didn’t account for incredibly loud music being played randomly.

Feeling more in control, he made his way down the hallway into the lobby, peering outside to find the cause of the raucous. There was two trucks, a small girl that looked like she was taking pictures and then a guy, shirtless, posing with a big- no, that couldn’t be right, could it?

He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining things, but nothing changed when he looked again. Sighing, he opened the door and stepped outside, squinting in the far-too-bright sunlight to see that yes, the half-naked man was indeed wielding a huge, two-handed sword. His back was turned to Anders as he held it to his left side, taking up what Anders assumed would be a defensive pose - as if he knew anything about the archaic art of swordfighting - the muscles in his back rippling as he moved. 

Anders couldn’t help but stare, entranced with every movement as he watched the toned and muscular body switching positions with ease, hefting the large weapon through the air as though it were a butter knife. So lost in admiration was he that he didn’t notice when the man turned around and saw him until he shouted at him.

“Hey! Are you open today? Maker, I’m sorry, I thought you were closed on Sundays.” Anders snapped his eyes up to the man’s face, finding that he had intense blue eyes that when paired with his black hair emphasized his pale color. His lips were currently turned down in a frown as he stared at Anders, worry etched in his features. 

Letting out a nervous and slightly higher-than-normal laugh, Anders waved a hand. “Yeah, should be closed but I was called in on an emergency. I just… is that a real sword?” he asked, looking again at the large, shiny blade and carefully wrapped handle in the man’s hands. He halfway hoped it was, if only to know that the gorgeous specimen in front of him was capable of carrying such weight with ease.

The man cast a glance down at the sword with his eyebrows furrowed for a moment before looking back at Anders with a smirk. “Yup, it’s real. I make these myself in my free time and then do photo shoots to sell them. Merrill,” he motioned at the girl who waved and offered him an entirely too cheerful smile,  “thought this place would be perfect for a background. Sorry if we bothered you.”

Anders shook his head, surprised when the man started walking toward him. “It’s fine, could you just - turn down the music a bit, maybe?” He stopped right before Anders, peering down at him before bursting into a large smile and laughing. 

“Bloody void, you’re hungover, aren’t you?” Anders quirked an eyebrow at him as he let out a good belly laugh, covering his mouth to try to stifle the sound. At least he was being _somewhat_ polite. If he wasn’t so damned _hot_ Anders would have turned around and slammed the door in his face by now.

“Car-ver, be nice,” the girl chided in a sweet, trilling voice. “He could make us leave, you know.”

That sobered him up quickly and he gave Anders an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see a _vet_ hungover.” 

“Well, vets are people too,” Anders said wryly, unsure how to respond to the bluntness of the man apparently named Carver. Deciding that enough was enough, he turned to head back into the clinic, wanting to finish his paperwork and get back home to his warm, comfy bed and room with curtains that would block out all the light.

“Wait!” Carver called, causing Anders to pause and look over his shoulder. “I have a mabari, and I’ve heard good things about you, so I was considering bringing him here?” He ended the sentence like a question, leaving Anders uncertain of what he was asking, exactly. He reached into his pocket, fishing out his wallet and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. 

“If you decide to do so, here’s the number for the clinic to make an appointment.” Hand on the door, he started to pull it open and had a foot in when Carver spoke again.

“What’s the other number for?”

He glanced back over at him, amber eyes meeting sapphire and felt a little electricity skittering across his skin at the eye contact. “I…uh… that’s my cell number, for after hours emergencies.” He hated the way he had stumbled over his words, but that particular feeling had caught him off-guard. What did it mean?

Carver gave him a lopsided smile, twirling the card in his hand as he asked, “and for me to call you to ask for a date?”

Heart skipping a few beats, Anders’ mind reeled as he tried to process the question. A _date_? He hadn’t been on one of those in a long time. And with this man? Would he want to?

Yes, yes he very much _would_ like to.

“Maybe,” he responded, doing his best to procure the playful tone he used to be so adept at. “I guess you’ll just have to call it and find out, huh?” With that, he stepped inside his clinic, shutting the door quietly behind him and headed back to finish his paperwork. 

He missed the dab that Carver did as he walked away, sword and all. 


	20. Prompt #20- Carver/Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Less homicidal thoughts about your annoying coworker right now, please. I’m in a meeting over here.” sounds an awful lot like canders, maybe with annoying hawke or fenris?

“We’ve received a rather large donation from the Guerrin family as thanks for saving their son Connor, and it’s enough to consider upgrading some of our equipment. Now, I could make the decision for everyone, but I thought it’d be good to hear what some of you think regarding…” Wynne’s voice faded into a light buzz as Anders started to shift restlessly in his seat, drumming his fingers in irritation against the table in front of him. His free hand reached up to rub light circles against his temples in preparation for the full-blown headache he knew was about to hit him as the mental connection between him and his soulmate began to tremble dangerously. 

Normally the link was rather calm with small snippets of feelings and thoughts coming through at random intervals, enough to give one an idea of how their partner was doing but not enough to disrupt their own mood. When emotions ran high, however, it would result in a full-blown, completely open connection that allowed both people fairly unlimited access to each others’ thoughts and feelings. This was originally meant to be a way to warn when one was in danger for survival or to help calm down one’s partner in moments of crisis, but in the modern world it more of an inconvenience than anything. 

Especially if you had a soulmate who was particularly moody, like Anders.

He had had a suspicion today would result in something like this, as it was a rare day where his partner, Carver, had to work with his older brother, Garrett. Their family ran Hawke Construction, and the two brothers as well as their older sister were all foremen who ran separate crews. This was generally a gift from the heavens since the siblings could never agree on anything, especially when it came to Carver and Garrett, but today they had both joined Marian on her job to help her finish it on time. 

Thus, the oncoming storm.

The thread connecting them began to tremble in earnest, and Anders braced himself as the onslaught of anger and irritation came pouring over him, trying his hardest to keep his facial features in a neutral expression. 

_For fuck’s sake, Maker take him, I can’t work like this! If he thinks that I’m going to let him boss me around for one more second, I’m going to send his ass right back to the void it came from!_

Despite the vitriol that accompanied the thoughts, Anders was unable to completely suppress a small smile. Yep, this was definitely one of those days between the Hawke brothers. However, he couldn’t let this continue if he hoped to focus on what his boss was saying. He had a lot of strong opinions on what equipment was needed in the pediatric ward and he had every intention of letting those be known.

Sitting forward and clasping his hands in front of him, he leaned on the desk as he sent as many soothing emotions as he could to Carver, hoping to help bring him down off the tightrope he was dancing across. _Carver,_ he thought, making sure his mental voice expressed his amusement despite the importance of the situation, _you know I love you and I understand how much Garrett pisses you off, but I’m kinda in an important meeting right now? You know, that one I mentioned last night that could get us the new monitors? I can’t focus while you’re thinking of different ways to kill your brother, so think you could tone it down a bit? Just a couple notches, from homicidal to, oh, I dunno, ‘I hope he runs out of bodywash the next time he showers?’_

 _Ew, no,_ came the reply, but Anders already felt the anger starting to dissipate. _No way I’d wish that on that bloody wanker, then I’d have to smell him._ There was a pause and he waited, knowing more was to come even if it took the other man a little longer to say it. _I’m sorry, Anders, I should’ve tried harder to stay calm. Hope I didn’t screw anything up for you._

 _No harm done. I’ll see you at home, alright?_ He sat back in the chair, noticing that Solona had finished her turn talking about what she wanted for the unit and that Alistair was joining in - probably to back her up, honestly. That meant that soon it would be his turn.

 _Alright._ With that the emotions faded back to the small thread that was barely noticeable and he let out a sigh of relief. Alistair finished speaking in record time, and all eyes turned to him. Putting on his most charming smile, he sat back comfortably and started speaking in a confident, relaxed tone.

“So here’s what I think would do us a world of good…”  


* * *

Thanks again! :)

> [ _**Soulmate Thoughts** _ ](http://starlinghawke.tumblr.com/post/154001147916/jupiterjames-i-love-reading-fics-about-otps)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have anything you want to see? Feel free to pop over to StarlingHawke on Tumblr and submit a prompt!


	21. Prompt #21 - Hawke and Carver Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're Satan." or "Well, that's tragic." for Hawke & Carver. (I know it's not a ship, but those reminded me of them lol)"
> 
> I worked both in but changed 'Satan' to 'demon' because we're in Thedas :)

“Ohhh, Car-ver!” Hawke called out in her sing-song voice, moseying over to her little brother and hooking her elbow in his. He glanced down at her grumpily, not at all in the mood to deal with her jokes. He’d had a night of already poor sleep at Gamlen’s interrupted by Hawke crashing into their room at some ungodly hour of the morning, drunk as a skunk and singing bar tunes loudly and off-key. She’d been out again with Isabela and Varric, staying at The Hanged Man until the sun started to peek over the horizon as she usually did the night before a larger job. How she always managed to be so cheerful the next morning was lost on him - he could hardly find anything to be cheerful about even when everything went right for him. Not that anything ever did these days.

Tugging him so that they were walking a good ways in front of their companions, she leaned her head on his arm and let out a small giggle. He sighed and glanced up to the sky, shooting the Maker a silent prayer that she was not going to try her hand at matchmaking again. The last time had been when she tried to hook him up with Isabela and that had proved rather disastrous. He found he rather lacked the desire to repeat the incident any time soon.

“So I was thinking…” she started out, tone entirely too innocent for his taste.

“No,” he cut her off, ignoring the pout that she immediately gave him. He tried to disentangle his arm from hers but she had latched onto him like a barnacle and appeared to have every intention of staying close to him, much to his irritation. He let out a small grunt of frustration, turning his gaze to the path ahead of them and hoping to find someone to swing his sword at soon, if for no other reason than to delay the conversation.

She hit him lightly with her other hand, recovering quickly and beaming up at him brightly. “Don’t be such a grumpy guss, little brother,” she chided lightly, reaching up to pinch his cheek. He flinched away, grumbling under his breath when she laughed at him. “I noticed that you’ve been paying extra attention to a special someone lately.”

“Oh yeah?” He avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the dirt path as he infused his tone with indifference. “And who might that be?” Honestly, he had no intentions of letting her meddle in his love life- well, his lack of one. If he wanted to court someone, he would damned well do it on his own.

Giggling again, she looked over her shoulder at their companions before glancing back up at him. “Oh, you know, a certain elf you seem to have a thing for~” He made sure to keep his face schooled into his normal surly expression, merely grunting noncommittally. “Oh, stop that!” Elbowing him in the side, she finally pulled away, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look. “You know, if you don’t make a move soon, maybe someone else will.”

He snorted. “Oh, yeah? Like who?”

“Like me, maybe.” She shoved a thumb into her chest, grinning mischievously. Frowning when he shrugged in response, she stepped forward and turned around, walking backwards and looking up at him. “What, you wouldn’t care if I swooped in and took them out of the picture?”

Shrugging again, he looked over her shoulder at the path to make sure she wouldn’t trip over anything. Annoying she may be, but she was still his sister and he didn’t want her to get hurt. “Whaddya want me to say, exactly? That it’d be tragic? Fine, I’d be so sad if you took them from me, boo hoo, poor me. Is that what you wanted to hear?” His hand reached out and jerked her to the side as she came upon a boulder, shoving her back over as soon as she was past.

“I knew you cared about me,” she snarked, rolling her eyes before turning back around to walk straight again. “No, I just want you to admit your feelings for once. I really do wanna help you be happy.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye when he heard the undertone of sadness in her voice that gave him pause, curious what was really the driving force in this conversation. Did she feel guilty for something? He didn’t blame her for anything that had happened to them, not really. Sure, maybe he had said a few things in anger - things he probably should apologize for sometime- but he didn’t actually hold her at fault for their misfortune. Life was just a bitch.

“Thanks, but I can handle it myself,” he replied, shaking his head and giving her a playful shove to lighten up the mood. “Don’t need big sis to save the day this time.” 

Her lips twisted up in a that familiar smirk that meant she was about to do something he wouldn’t like and he frowned, eyebrows furrowed as he stopped walking. “Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” he warned, alarmed when she darted away from him to cup her hands over her mouth and shout at their companions. 

“Hey! I just wanted to let you know that Carver thinks you’re very mmmmmmphhh.” He shoved his hand over her mouth and quickly dragged her away, muttering even as she started to laugh, shaking madly in his arms. Picking up the pace more, he made sure they had a rather large gap between them and the others before he sat her down and released her, not at all surprised that she immediately collapsed giggling on the ground, holding her belly as she laughed hard enough that tears were starting to roll down her cheeks.

His mouth twitched as a smile tried to make its way onto his face despite his annoyance, and he turned away so that she couldn’t see him when he let out a small huff of amusement, one hand brushing back a stray lock of black hair. “You’re a demon,” he said, shaking his head as he turned back to see her wiping her eyes and staring at him with sparkling eyes. “A bloody demon, a thorn in my side. What will I do with you?”

“Loooove me, because I’m your big sister,” she answered, smiling widely. She offered her elbow again, and he chuckled as he hooked his into hers, waiting for the others to catch up.

“I suppose I can do that, even if you’re a pain in my ass.”   


> _**Drabble Challenge** _   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any prompts or requests, come find me on Tumblr as StarlingHawke! :)


	22. Carver and Bethany's 2nd birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra's POV

The little cabin was stuffed to the brim, children running about every which way around the various adults. Most of the women were gathered together in the kitchen, talking and laughing with Leandra as she finished getting the cake ready for the fabled blowing out of candles. The small ones weren’t cheap and they reused them from year to year, but the kids never cared. 

“Mama!” called out a young voice, heralding the arrival of her eldest, Aurellia, into the kitchen. Her dark red hair bounced in her ponytail and her blue eyes were filled with concern as she skidded to a stop at her mother’s feet. “Carver’s pulling Bethy’s braid and making her cry! I keep telling him to stop but he won’t listen!”

Leandra sighed and wiped her hands on her apron, crouching down to be face-to-face with the child, smiling calmly at her. “Thank you for letting me know. Would you fetch your father for me?” The little girl nodded solemnly and took off outside, on her way to bring Malcolm in from where he and the other men were messing around by the barn. Watching her skip off merrily, she felt a sense of pride well up at how hard Aurellia worked to help them out. She really was a wonderful kid, destined for great things, no doubt.

Stepping past the other women, Leandra made her way toward the quiet cries that could barely be heard over the din of the house, expertly stepping around the children bolting past her, shrieks of laughter following them. Frowning, she placed her hands on her hips when she finally came upon the twins, Bethany straining against her much larger brother, Carver, in an attempt to get away. His hands were thoroughly wrapped in her brown braid and even though he was pulling, Leandra knew in an instant that he wasn’t using his full strength. What she didn’t know was _why._

"Carver Hawke, let go of your sister this instant!” she scolded, satisfied when he made a face but dropped the braid anyway. Bethany immediately flew into her arms, her pitiful whimpers muffled against Leandra’s chest. “Shh shh, it’s okay.” A quiet cough from behind her alerted her to Malcolm’s presence and she turned to him, tilting her head to motion at him to take their daughter. He nodded, reaching out and rapping her on the shoulder, catching her easily when she launched herself into his arms. 

Leandra moved over to Carver, looking down into his sullen face. She knew her son, and he wasn’t usually mean without a reason. Sometimes it came from something as simple as Bethany getting in his way, but this didn’t feel like that. “Carver,” she said quietly, crouching down and dipping her head to look up at him. “Why were you pulling your sister’s hair?”

Blue eyes flashed and he grabbed her hand, pulling her toward one of their bookshelves. Confused, she let him, her gaze following one chubby finger pointing behind the piece of furniture. There, squished behind it, was a small grey cat, its eyes wild and mouth open to let out a hiss before emitting a low growl in warning.

Beth pet cat,” he said simply in explanation, shaking his head. “No. No Beth pet cat. Cat get me.” Holding up a leg, Leandra let out a gasp at the jagged claw marks running down his calf, reaching out to touch them softly. They weren’t deep enough to bleed, thankfully, just enough to hurt. 

He was trying to keep her from getting hurt too, in the only way he knew how to stop her. At least his intentions were good.

She pulled him into a hug, chuckling at the absurdness of the situation; she’d have to ask Malcolm to get the feral animal out of the house. “Thank you for trying to protect your sister, Carver, but next time get one of us. Pulling her hair isn’t nice, okay?” She felt him nod against her and she pulled back, releasing him and straightening his shirt. “Let’s go say sorry to her. Then it’s time for cake.”

A grin flashed across his face at that and he grabbed onto her outstretched hand, little fingers holding tightly as they headed back to the kitchen.


	23. Carver's daughter's 2nd birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be as ambiguous with who his partner is as I could since in order for him to have a baby that resembles Bethany it’s have to be genetically his. So… whether you want to think he’s married to a woman or if he and his male love somehow worked that out with a surrogate, it should still work. :)

Carver couldn’t believe it; it’d already been two years since his little princess had come into his world. Two years of life, laughter and bliss. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t always bliss, but that’s being a parent. Either way, he was happy to have her. Since the day he’d brought her home, she’d brought him joy. 

But it was tough, knowing she was his last child; his only child, actually. The years were going by too fast, ripping away his time with her despite how hard he clung to it. She was growing up before his very eyes, already starting to look less like the baby he viewed her as and more like a little kid. 

There was a slew of gifts waiting for her in front of the chair he was sitting on, all stacked neatly on the rug in front of the fire. It was chilly outside but wonderfully warm in their house, the fire crackling and popping at the early hour to help keep it that way. A small cake sat at the table, nothing fancy but he knew it’d be delicious and perfect for them to eat for breakfast.

He’s allowed to do that now and then. It’s his right as a dad to spoil his daughter rotten.

A tiny voice called out his name and he turned, his smile faltering when he saw her walking up toward him. His love had put her in a simple but beautiful deep blue dress and her hair was braided simply, a few wisps of the dark brown sneaking free to hang loosely around her eyes. The way she looked right then with her big brown eyes staring up at him and a shy smile on her face made his heart skip a beat; the image of a sister long lost flashing through his mind. 

He didn’t know he’d started crying until she let out a dismayed cry, her little legs carrying her over to him quickly and climbing up on his lap. “Daddy, crying?” she asked, her soft voice full of concern and she wiped away his tears with chubby hands. “Me?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, he shook his head and smiled at her, doing his best to get his emotions under control. “No, I’m not crying because of you, pup. You look lovely. I was just reminded of your Aunt Bethy. But that’s no matter; it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” She perked up and nodded; he’d heard his lover in her room earlier, singing and talking to her about what that meant. He took a deep breath and let go of the rest of the sadness, not willing to let it cloud up this happy day; he could remember Bethany without making it sad if just tried.

He pointed over at the presents and her face lit up, sliding off his lap and running over to them, immediately pulling one to her and tearing at the paper. Laughing, he called out to his love that they’d better come soon or else they’d miss it. 

Watching her dig in and her face every time she opened a present was the best feeling in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you like to do a prompt of your own? Shoot me an ask on my tumblr, StarlingHawke!


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